


Karnevalesque

by Azii



Category: Karneval
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:15:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 29,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azii/pseuds/Azii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Series of drabbles (and I do mean drabbles) featuring Hirato and Akari. Cameos from Tsukitachi. Also includes weaponized neckties, a glimpse of Hirato's frighteningly dark side and Akari's slightly masochistic one. Plus Yogi, because everyone needs a little Yogi. Can be cavity-inducing in places. Manga-based. Be mindful of anime spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get this couple out of my head. So I'm giving in to my addiction. Because I'm all out of ideas for a full-length fic, I'm doing drabbles. No longer than 500 words, updated irregularly, and very much open to requests.

Akari kisses like a demon.

No one but Hirato would know. In fact, no one would even expect this from the coldly analytical intellectual who oversees Research Tower. But Circus' second commander is all too aware of how the doctor presses their lips together softly at first, slanting his mouth across Hirato's at a myriad of angles before teasing the seam of the captain's lips with his tongue. The blonde is sly, too. Just when Hirato thinks he's captured that tongue with his own, it retreats, only to be replaced by the gentle nip of teeth followed by a soothing lick. The commander doesn't complain, even when said sly tongue slips along his jaw and slyer hands slip under his clothes.

Akari also takes his time, exploring Hirato's skin with the same diligence and meticulousness with which he undertakes his work. The brunette has long supposed that the doctor is simply accustomed to performing examinations, although he is a tiny bit jealous that someone else might claim the physician's undivided attention for any length of time. But he'll never tell Akari that. Even lovers keep secrets from one another.

For instance, Hirato doesn't know that Akari kisses him like a demon because it's the only thing that will wipe that infuriating smirk off his face.


	2. Observations

Tsukitachi observes things.

A fleeting glance, a furtive wink, Hirato leaning over Akari's shoulder a little too closely for comfort, and Akari not being nearly as discomfited by this as he once was. Sometimes, he drops by Research Tower's offices late in the evening and looks through frosted glass, only to catch two shadows entwined in desperate embrace. He never knocks when he happens upon his closest friends like so, preferring to allow them their privacy. On those nights, he carries the wine and three glasses back to Eva's quarters. The statuesque beauty always answers the door with a knowing smile on her lips and the barest hint of pity in her aquamarine eyes.

"Feel like getting plastered, captain?" Eva inquires, taking the wine from his hands before he nods in the affirmative.

They drink. They talk. They laugh. Rarely, they'll watch a movie or play card games, but their actions never stray too far afield of the strictly platonic.

One night, Eva asks the question that Tsukitachi's been anticipating for months.

"How come you never interrupt them?" The teal-eyed goddess isn't attempting a slight, he knows. She enjoys his company. Eva is only concerned about him because he's ill-suited to solitude. And if he were unflinchingly honest with himself, he'd admit that he misses his friends.

"Because they always look like it's their last night together."

"Your point?"

"One night it will be."

Tsukitachi observes things, after all. Unpredictable and dangerous things. The sorts of things that Circus' top two commanders encounter on every new mission.


	3. Fevers

Hirato's bedside manner is abominable.

Things have spun wildly out of control when Akari concludes thus. The physician has been ill for several days, and although he's typically capable of attending to his own needs, a rather high fever has leeched him of surplus energy. Doctors make the worst patients; Akari is no exception. An incurable workaholic, he refuses rest and is often caught reviewing lab reports while a veritable snowfall of crushed tissues litters his desk.

Hirato has had enough. Akari lacks the wherewithal to make rounds but still attempts work. This won't do. So, he endeavors to ensure that the blonde is rendered completely incapable of getting out of bed. Soldiers make the worst doctors; Hirato is no exception.

The captain nearly stabs an opaline iris when taking Akari's temperature. His patient bristles. "Don't you have work to do, ships to fly, Varuga to kill, other people to torment?"

"I am exactly where I'm needed."

"It's the flu, not a terminal illness." The physician is glaring now, but even he recognizes that he's not too frightening when propped up on pillows and drowning in blankets.

The commander's rhinestone eyes sparkle mischievously as he studies the thermometer. "100.1. Goodness, doctor. You're burning up." Long fingers settle against a sweat-slicked brow.

"No, you idiot. It's gone down since you last checked."

"We should cool you off. Can't have that amazing brain of yours overheating." Hirato's hand moves to his neck and downward from there, shifting aside bedding and slipping under his t-shirt with practiced skill. Refreshingly cool lips press a kiss against the doctor's forehead before capturing his mouth.

Admittedly it takes some effort, but Akari manages to break away after having lost only his shirt. "Absolutely not, you lecher. You're not helping. And you're going to get sick."

"You _poor_ thing. You must be quite far gone if you're raving like so." That rich baritone is practically dripping mirth as an expert tongue traces chilly trails along Akari's feverish skin. "Now be a good boy and let me take care of you."

The legions of unsuccessful who've ever tried to dissuade Hirato know precisely how this ends.

Hours later, an exhaust _ed_ blonde has been pinned to the mattress by a tangle of long limbs belonging to a very exhaust _ing_ brunette. Akari places his palm against Hirato's cheek and wonders if its heat is a result of nascent illness or fever of a different sort. "You're warm. I warned you that you'd get sick."

"It's fine. I've long known that you'd be the death of me."

And a rare smile alights the doctor's lips. "There are worse ways to go."


	4. Wins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I write crack!fics. You can skip this if you like.

Sometimes Akari wins.

From his privileged viewpoint, Tsukitachi wonders what's more efficacious: Hirato's clever machinations or Akari's subtle persuasion.

The red-haired leader of Airship One visits Research Tower in hopes of having a nightcap… or an afternoon-cap, as it were—in which case there would be several. He's utterly staggered to find Circus' Second Commander settled behind a computer, hat and overcoat discarded while impossibly high stacks of files loom precariously around him.

"Hirato?" Tsukitachi tries and fails to conceal his surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Hmmm?" The brunette looks up; he's uncharacteristically subdued, precluding the possibility of some elaborate trick. "I'm digitizing old field reports."

Relationships make lovers stupid, the First Commander is quite aware. But surely Akari couldn't have fucked Hirato senseless enough for data entry. The brunette is military, after all. "Why are you doing Akari-chan's job? Did you accidentally break his fingers and this is compensation?" _Please say yes._

Hirato sighs in the manner of the perpetually long-suffering. "No. And it's not his job. It's the nurses' job."

"Once more then, for the cheap seats: Why are _you_ doing it?"

Narrowed violet meets gold, intimating that Tsukitachi will suffer untold tortures if he repeats what follows. "Because they all want him."

"Excuse me?"

It's a hushed whisper. "The staff. They all want to... _defile_ Akari. I found very _descriptive_ notes slipped under his door." The second captain resumes his task, leaving a very bemused first captain to track down a very conniving researcher.

The blonde is making rounds, of course. But his irises sparkle as Tsukitachi approaches. "Who's your new secretary and what have you done with Hirato?"

Akari laughs. Actually _laughs_. "He's absurd. He thinks I'll be molested, and that I don't know he's the jealous type. I guess his manner of addressing me so properly has been channeled into misguided chivalry. The logic is incomprehensible, honestly."

"Doesn't he realize that the staff is too frightened of you to try anything?"

"He has evidence suggesting the contrary... or so it seems."

"Well, it _is_ entertaining to see him like this." The captain wants to admonish the researcher for reducing his best friend thusly, but he can't help being impressed. "You know, I don't think we've ever done paperwork."

The physician arches a brow. "Really? He's twice as efficient as the nurses."

A few drinks later, a particularly disturbing thought occurs to Tsukitachi: "Who wrote them?"

Akari doesn't falter. "Who indeed."

Yes, sometimes the doctor emerges victorious. And it's precisely then that Tsukitachi wonders if Hirato is as deleterious an influence on _him_ as he is on Akari.


	5. Losses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And sometimes I can't write crack, even if I want to.

Sometimes everyone loses.

Hirato realizes this while watching an almost imperceptible shiver trail down his lover's spine. Chilling rain has seeped through the blonde's clothes, and although Akari is excruciatingly beautiful, black is unbecoming of him. Light hair sticks against pale skin, water dripping unchecked along angular features and into a dark shirt collar. The captain cannot distinguish between raindrops and tears. Such emotional frailty rarely overcomes the physician, but if ever an occasion precipitated heartache, Azana's funeral would qualify.

The brunette opens an umbrella over his grieving companion. Akari strides away. Hirato supposes the researcher feels responsible for his subordinate's death, misguided as this guilt is. Perhaps hours in a frigid downpour is some silent vigil or remuneration.

Afterwards, Akari accompanies him wordlessly to Airship Two. It's unnerving to see the doctor like so—quiet, obedient, docile. Like the black suit he's wearing, these things are ill-suited to him. Hirato desperately wants his coldly analytical yet endearingly irritable physician back, but he is quite cognizant of the infeasibility of that desire at present. He guides the blonde into dry clothes and a warm bed, lingering long enough for a fleeting kiss.

"I'm so sorry, Akari."

"It's not your fault." _But it is_ , the brunette thinks. Lies are heavy, he knows. Unburdening himself of this one would be heavier still.

"Rest. I'm going to work. I'll be back soon."

Circus' Second Commander then makes for the ship's bridge. It's a minute's walk from his quarters, but when he arrives, every trace of the affectionate lover has vanished, only to be replaced with icy malice. He's not just angry. He's hellishly irate. Tsukitachi intuits as much from a brief glance.

"How is Akari-chan?" the red head inquires softly.

"He's very upset." Hirato scrubs his face wearily. "Azana was like a protégé, you know."

"Some protégé. Tries to kill Akari-chan twice, even after everything he's done for him. I wouldn't have attended the funeral, much less _mourn_ the bastard."

"Well, you know Akari."

"Yeah." Tsukitachi regards his friend. "And I know you too."

Amethyst eyes narrow venomously. Azana wandered into Hirato's cross-hairs the moment he dared to threaten Akari, and while the blonde once stopped him from killing the man, his own capacity for forgiveness is comparatively limited. In matters pertaining to the doctor, it's virtually non-existent. Unfortunate, then, that Akari is grief-stricken and wakeful while the traitor Azana sleeps. Unfortunate and infuriating.

"Will you tell Akari-chan?" The first captain's golden gaze is thoughtful, appraising.

"He'd never forgive me."

Lies are heavy, and Hirato has long become accustomed to their weight. Nevertheless, lying to Akari feels a bit like drowning.

Even he can't win them all, it seems.


	6. Phobias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Yogi fans. Semi-crack.

Yogi isn't the sharpest crayon in the box.

"Hirato-san—"

He throws open the door to the captain's quarters with characteristic indiscretion, only to find an irate doctor glaring murderously at a resistive commander. Hirato's hands are displayed in a gesture of goodwill, surrender, conciliation… Yogi can't quite discern. But he _can_ discern that his typically-unflappable superior officer seems distinctly flapped, at least from here. This pleases him in ways he'd never confess. It's so damn satisfying to see Hirato on the defensive.

"I know you've a protozoan intellect, Hirato, but even amoeba know better." Akari's tone is frigid. Yogi knows it well. It's the tone the doctor reserves for occasions likely to induce trauma.

A tremor trails down the lieutenant's spine. He's almost anxious _for_ Hirato. He'd hoped that a romance between his supervisor and the man haunting his nightmares would make life easier. No such luck. Hirato still teases and Akari still terrifies. Sometimes, things are more volatile than before.

Like now.

"If you relax, Akari, I think you'll find that a larger tie knot will cover that," Hirato offers nonchalantly. Upon closer inspection Yogi sees violet eyes sparkle impishly, betraying immense amusement. He's long been acquainted with the captain's soft sadism, but a new hint of masochism alights those irises. The younger man tries (and fails) to _not_ imagine his two seniors in a range of compromising positions. _My next medical exam is going to be_ so _awkward._ _  
_

"That's irrelevant," Akari seethes. "You seem determined to humiliate me!"

"He's got a point, Hirato-san." The words spill from Yogi's lips involuntarily. He cringes, knowing he's done for. "Um... I mean... Sorry?"

"Yogi, your opinion is superfluous." The tenor of the researcher's voice suggests that homicide is well within the range of possible outcomes. Yogi swallows. Hard. "I don't need a child's assistance."

The brunette continues conversing politely, as though the lovers had not been interrupted mid-quarrel. "How about a full Windsor, hmm? I'll teach you."

Akari's had enough. He strides forth and yanks at the commander's necktie with enough vehemence to leave the man with his own set of bruises. He's a scant millimeters away, gaze narrowed in fury and voice a dangerous whisper. "And I don't need help from _you_. But I'll promise you this: If you don't learn to behave yourself, I'll use you for experimentation." The doctor then stalks off towards the bedroom. Hirato clears his throat delicately.

Captain and lieutenant are en route when Yogi pauses mid-step, spins on his heel, and addresses Hirato in as smug a manner as the insecure blonde can achieve. "I warned you Akari-sensei was scary as hell."

He may not have staggering brainpower, but at least Yogi knows _that_.


	7. Discoveries

Sometimes Akari thwarts all expectations.

Hirato learns new things with every romp. For example, if he brushes his lips along the shell of the blonde's ear while _en flagrante delicto_ , he's rewarded with the tiniest shiver. An unexpected sweep of barely-there fingers along the inside of the doctor's thigh is met with a soft gasp. If he wants Akari to moan, he closes his mouth over the jut of the other's hipbone and sucks, his teeth barely scoring that delicate, ultra-sensitive patch of skin. Such tricks inevitably produce the expected outcome.

So Hirato bristles when all his tricks elicit nothing more than an intake of breath slightly sharper than typical. The brunette essays another go, gingerly increasing the pressure of his fingertips, adding a touch more vehemence to his bite. Akari remains largely impassive.

Defeated, he kisses the physician gently, unsure of the cause of such dispassion. "What's wrong?" he asks, abandoning his usual façade for one betraying concern.

Akari's eyes narrow. Realizing that his concern was much warranted, the captain props his head on an elbow and regards his bedmate. He would love nothing more than to continue his ministrations, but that hard, opaline gaze stops him short. "Why does everyone treat me like I'm some precious gem?"

Rather afield of what he anticipated, true, but Hirato is nothing if not adaptive. A careful hand brushes aside strawberry blonde hair. "Well, the penalties for endangering SSS-ranked personnel are pretty unforgiving." His lips curve mischievously. "Theoretically, I could get into trouble for this." Violet eyes rake down pale skin hungrily, but neither man misses the affection in them.

"Not for _this_ ," Akari answers. The brunette doesn't quite catch the double meaning.

"You're probably right. We're consenting adults, after all."

The blonde sighs exasperatedly, obliging the commander's attention. "Not my point," he huffs.

"Then what is?"

"Just once, I wish you'd take me like you're willing to get arrested for it."

Understandably, Hirato's brain stops functioning. But he _is_ a soldier and therefore inured to the vicissitudes of warzones; bedrooms should be short work. When his thought processes come back online, there's a predatory leer to his hooded gaze and a dangerous smile alighting his face. He presses against Akari, muscular limbs trapping the blonde under him. Long, dexterous fingers wind in the physician's hair, gripping tightly. And as the captain leans down to take the other's lips in his teeth, he tugs at that hair with uncustomary roughness. The doctor practically _growls_ while his toes fight for purchase in the sheets.

"Like I'm willing to get arrested, right?" Hirato inquires in a ravenous hush. Coral eyes glint in anticipation as Akari nods permissively.

And Hirato knows he'll never grow weary of discovering Akari.


	8. Errors

No one treats Hirato like this. No one's _ever_ treated Hirato like this.

On nights under Akari's directive, when the doctor's the one doing the taking, the captain invariably notices how warm palms slip over his battle-weary flesh—slow like honey, meticulous in their traversal and so finely controlled that occasionally he feels a bit like an experiment himself. He's well aware that the blonde's hands are likely cold under routine circumstances. They must be inordinately tired, too. A researcher's long hours pass in temperature-controlled labs and overly air-conditioned hospital suites, after all. But Akari never handles Hirato's bare skin with icy or fatigued hands.

The commander thinks this cautiousness is unnecessary, naturally. He's a soldier, a fighter, and he certainly does not _require_ a light touch. His body's seen enough damage to be inured to significant physical pain. Even so, on these evenings Akari kisses him like he's fragile, breakable—a trinket forged from delicate glass or an insubstantial phantasm conjured by magecraft. Velvety lips cling to his for the briefest of instances before they trace the same patterns that the doctor's fingers have lately etched. At first, Hirato was unconvinced that such subtle technique could satisfy him, much less exhilarate him. Being wrong was never so gratifying. Unhurried as they are, Akari's ministrations send him careening off the cliff of sanity without fail.

One night, while enjoying the sated quiet that inevitably follows this exquisite pleasure, Hirato's curiosity prevails over his nonchalance. Akari is fitted against him, the physician's impossibly long legs tangled with his own. Those exacting, deliberate fingers lightly sketch spirals along his collarbone. Soft, steady breathing tingles sensitive skin as a curved mouth settles against his neck.

Hirato takes the blonde's hand, drawing him away from lazy contemplation. Searching crystalline eyes meet his. "Sometimes you're so careful with me, doctor." A tiny crease forms between light-colored brows, and the memory of a rather spirited conversation regarding formal address and its appropriate contexts comes to mind. He smirks. Teasing his lover is always apropos. "Are you fearful of breaking me?"

"As if anyone could," Akari huffs incredulously. But his cadence betrays affection.

"Just accustomed to surgery, then?" Hirato counters playfully.

The researcher only leans in and captures his lips. There's meaning lingering beyond this gesture, but it escapes him. "Tell me," Akari's tone is subdued, "Can you recall a time when your body, when your _life,_ wasn't subject to Circus' utilitarianism?"

He stills.

"You may not be easily breakable or fragile, Hirato, but it's erroneous to presume that invulnerability diminishes your worth. Do not confuse me with _them_ again."

No. No one else _could_ treat him like this, because he really is breakable, and only Akari possesses that knowledge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real relationships don't conform to seme/uke tropes. Just, FYI.


	9. Hearts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I can't get things under 500 words. Sorry. It won't happen again. Also, please read through the end before you sharpen your knives. I'm not nearly as cruel as I'll seem.

Akari once thought he had no heart. This was an erroneous supposition—he feels it shattering tonight, into a million crystalline splinters, each as sharp and biting as the last.

The doctor seldom sleeps. Typically, his thoughts whirl too wildly for him to drift off. On evenings spent together, Hirato can assuage this. Even so, the researcher stirs a mere hour later, fully sated and rested, but wakeful nonetheless. If he's feeling productive, he'll slip from the bedroom to work. If he's feeling wistful, he'll watch the moonlight play along his bedmate's skin. Usually, his beautiful dreamer senses that appraising gaze and wakes. Akari always kisses him before he has opportunity to speak. Charming though he may be, the captain is uncommonly efficient at spoiling the mood.

Tonight, Hirato receives an emergency summons. The blonde guesses the occasion; he was at Round Table, after all. It's an inordinately dangerous mission, and his unerring calculations predict the sort of failure that will leave him bereaved and haunted. They've made promises to one another, he knows—promises not to interfere in professional matters. But Akari isn't concerned with promises right now.

"You're not going," he orders with pretended authority.

Long fingers have already threaded through his hair as the brunette kisses one of the doctor's now-closed eyes. "I have to." And the other. "We talked about this."

Coral-colored irises meet violet, but they aren't narrowed in ire. They're begging, almost. Akari's words, however, are exceedingly acerbic. "If you leave, so do I."

The commander only captures his lips in response. It's a kiss bearing a trace of seduction, yes, but undemanding in its passion and unyielding in its sentiment as well—a gesture expressing words left unsaid. And before the physician realizes it, he's crushed against the other man, a warm palm sweeping along his back and into his hair again. The sudden intimacy beguiles him into believing that he's succeeded. He's rarely wrong twice in succession. "I'm so sorry, Akari."

Hirato leaves.

Later, memories of the operating room come to mind like fragments of a dream that dissipates upon waking. Akari recalls loathing himself for touching his lover with cold, clinical hands, even though he entrusted Hirato's life to no other at the time. He remembers feeling like his ever-whirring brain had abruptly stalled, as if the universe, once an enticing puzzlebox that revealed itself to him without fail—as if that universe had lost all coherence. The world's axis had tilted, skewing his balance and dulling his perceptive faculties.

Despite this, his colleagues take note of perfectly steady hands and an immaculately executed surgical procedure.

Afterwards, he gazes longingly at a heavily sedated patient through glass. Hirato is sleeping soundly, his body in tatters—to say nothing of his mind. But he's very much alive. For that, Akari is deeply thankful. He's going to miss that crafty bastard, he thinks as a dull ache thrums through his tired limbs. He could stay, of course. But he'll not stand idly by as Hirato rushes headlong into every conceivable danger. Perhaps witnessing from a distance will be no easier, but at least it won't feel like he's been slighted. _He_ won't feel like the one who's broken.

He's lost in contemplation when Tokitatsu approaches. "If you want to be angry, doctor, be angry with me. I'm the one who sent him."

Almost involuntarily, the physician's fingernails scratch impotently at the glass. A breath catches in his throat. He can practically _feel_ his fingers wrapping around the bureaucrat's neck and squeezing mercilessly. He's not given to violence often, but these circumstances warrant it more than any in his experience. Akari shakes his head to dispel some of the fury long enough to speak. "You'd risk the life of your own brother? What kind of monster—"

"—the kind that hunts monsters." Tokitatsu's response is measured, but his eyes are sorrowful as they linger on the form just beyond the windowpane. "But don't think for a minute I sent him lightly. I care for him too, you know." He offers a wry smile. "He was the only one who stood a chance." To his credit, he does look heart-broken. Not a trace of the mischievousness he shares with his sibling marks his demeanor. Still, there's a fleeting sparkle in his irises as he turns to Akari. "If you worry, then give him a reason to live, some motivation to make it back in one piece. You'd be doing me a favor."

The doctor doesn't respond, opting instead to walk away, towards his laboratories, towards his corner of the world wherein everything is comprehensible, controllable. He's also similarly indisposed when Hirato is discharged. Naturally, there's plenty of fanfare with two airship crew and a whole host of celebrants, but the physician would be remiss in thinking he isn't missed. Even Tsukitachi looks crestfallen. Amethyst eyes search in vain for a flash of strawberry blonde hair or a swirl of lab coat, but Akari is nowhere to be found.

Instead, he is waiting aboard the second ship.

"I didn't expect you to be here." The brunette is uncharacteristically wary as he regards his lover. This doesn't suit him, Akari finds. Manipulative bastards should be irritatingly insolent and superficially polite.

"I didn't expect to be here." It's honest—brutally so—but no one ever accused him of sugarcoating anything.

"Akari, I'm—" the words are barely voiced before they're smothered by very intent lips. The commander is nearly rendered breathless by the vehemence.

"No," the blonde breathes between increasingly desperate kisses, "Stop." He's certain that he's being too forceful, that Hirato must be in pain, but Akari can't get close enough, can't touch enough, can't taste enough. "Just... don't let anything happen that I can't fix," he pleads, tangling his fingers in inky hair. "And come back. Always come back."

Hirato's laugh is exhausted, not as mellifluous as is its wont, but it's like a panacea for all the doctor's ills. "With so enthusiastic a welcome, how could I not?"

Akari has no heart, it's true. Hirato broke it when he didn't stay. But the physician thinks that possessing the captain's is more than adequate recompense.


	10. Distractions

Akari is absolutely fucking beautiful when he comes apart.

Hirato's long suspected this—as long as he's been acquainted with fae eyes and pale, almost luminescent skin. In fact, much of his teasing is resultant of a desire to see a tinge of pink alight porcelain cheeks or a spark of red flare in opal irises. Naturally, the physician is most stunning at the apex of pleasure, all pretense of collectedness abandoned, his strawberry blonde hair a tousled mess and that ruby gaze clouded by unadulterated want. The commander finds this incredibly alluring—most especially when effected by his own persuasive facility. It's a craving, and nothing satisfies quite like seducing Akari at work.

With this salacious objective, Hirato visits his lover's office. Initially he waits silently, watching deft fingers glide across a keyboard at superhuman speed.

"What do you want?" The doctor's tone is characteristically brusque.

The brunette would taunt, but he prefers to dismantle that trademark professionalism by other means. "To watch you work."

Steady staccato typing halts briefly as Akari registers the subtext. "Not a chance. You can see I'm busy, right?"

The captain doesn't respond, but a soft rustle indicates that he's taken off his overcoat. This is made abundantly clear when it lands squarely atop the desk, spilling lab reports across the keyboard.

The blonde sighs exasperatedly and neatly folds the coat over his chair. "Do you imagine throwing your clothes at me will divest me of mine?"

"Yes," Hirato's lips curve in pure deviltry. "I do." And having secured the other's attention even fleetingly, he tugs at his gloves… with his teeth.

"Nice try," Akari says dryly. "But I've seen anime characters do that more seductively." He resumes working.

Discarded gloves fall on the physician's hands, and while shifting them aside, he's distracted by their warmth. Consequently, and very much without his permission, his mind recalls that delicious warmth traversing his skin. He falters for a breath and immediately curses himself. Experience has taught him that Hirato can read intent in the slightest hesitation. Even so, such frivolity is out of the question. He marshals his concentration and continues clicking away, attempting in vain to corral thoughts that have strayed to the shameless bastard before him.

Ostensibly nothing's changed. But the brunette _feels_ tension gathering. He smirks.

Graceful fingers have slipped around narrow silk when a voice cuts through the haze, clean and sharp. "Remove that, and I _will_ restrain you with it." The blonde's attention doesn't waver from the computer screen, but a slight blush colors the tip of his nose.

The next article of clothing pitched in Akari's direction is a necktie.

Hours later, Hirato remains convinced that the most exquisite thing he's ever witnessed is Akari's composure dissolving, each new instance more addicting than the last.


	11. Cruelties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crack is whack, and I really thought I was done writing it. Clearly, I was wrong. You don't have to read this, but if you do, keep in mind that this could have been the series of Hirato/Akari/Tsukitachi Round Table messages that I almost wrote.

Akari wants to record this. He refrains because keeping a visual memento of another's humiliation is a deed worthy of Hirato. And the doctor is nothing like the brunet; his own cruelty is far more straightforward.

Hirato is… well, he's downright _loopy -_ to the extent that he can be thus, naturally. Only a lover would notice the slight glassiness of the commander's rhinestone eyes and the barest trace of uncharacteristic languor in the square of his shoulders.

Circus' field teams have returned from a veritable warzone, leaving many injured and Research Tower short of blood. As a result, the physician has been inordinately busy, besieged by surgeries and now a blood drive. In fact, between missions and emergencies, he'd not seen the shifty-eyed devil in weeks before Hirato arrives to donate. To say that he's surprised by the Second Captain's sudden commitment to humanitarianism is a rather weighty understatement. He's considering the motivations likely to precipitate such a demonstration of altruism when he perceives tell-tale signs of the other's facade slipping.

Akari is the one smirking mischievously now. "Thank you, captain. Honestly, I didn't think you cared."

"Too callous, doctor. Of course I care." Hirato sighs incredulously, as though his interlocutor is somehow daft. "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"You're here for me?" The blond is almost moved. Almost.

"Who else?"

"The field teams, perhaps."

"Yes, them too. But they're not nearly as beautiful as you."

That's exceedingly honest, even for a mildly anemic Hirato. An appraising ruby gaze regards the collection bag. _Something's wrong._

"What's so interesting about blood?" the brunet huffs, clearly displeased at having lost the physician's attention. He's being... petulant, maybe? Akari would be stunned if he weren't otherwise preoccupied. "Doubtless you've seen plenty."

"I'm amazed that manipulative bastards bleed red."

"So cold. Even after all I've endured today."

Pieces click into place after that. The researcher rubs his temples frustratedly, apprehending the absurd lengths that his manipulative bastard has traveled to appear before _him_ , to have his blood drawn by Akari instead of one of the several others taking donations. He chides himself for overlooking something so obvious. "You idiot. I don't want to know how you contrived this. Just tell me how often." He resolves to berate his staff for such negligence, although he suspects they're but partially at fault. Hirato likely bears the larger burden on that score.

"Relax. This is only the second time." Following an iota of hesitation: "It was worth it."

"You're _not_ invincible, you know." Akari leans over him to stop the bloodflow. The commander - unsatisfied with mere proximity - sits up in an attempt to kiss the blond. Disequilibrium overcomes him and he misses. Widely.

And because he's not quite as cruel as anyone's imagined, Akari bites back his laughter and kisses Hirato instead. "I missed you too."


	12. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter only makes sense if you've read the one entitled "Losses." Also, it's not less than 500 words. I tried very hard to shorten it, but I failed on that front. My apologies.

Weeks after Azana's death, Akari remains heartsick.

Hirato is the only one fully cognizant of the blond's emotional state. The researcher has made no significant emendations to his schedule. He's not requested a leave of absence. He demonstrates customary efficiency and professionalism, and even convincingly feigns his typical ill-humor. All of Research Tower is impressed by the doctor's equanimity, his inimitable dedication, his undiminished competence - although they tend to interpret these things as characteristic of a cold intellectual who understands the totality of the universe and nothing about humanity.

Hirato's experience is precisely the opposite. There are tells, but they're visible by moonlight alone, and solely in the velvety hush of the captain's quarters. Akari always arrives well after midnight, likely because he's too worn thin for interacting with any crew. The blond slips into Hirato's apartment like a specter, silent and cloaked in shade. Nothing is offered in the way of greeting, no mutual acknowledgement, no illumination even. He undresses wordlessly in the dark and climbs under the covers, eventually coming to rest against the commander's chest and sliding an arm low around his waist.

They seldom sleep so close, even on nights when they've exhausted their passion and one another.

Hirato abhors it - not Akari's proximity, of course. It's himself he loathes. Threading his fingers through the doctor's hair feels like betrayal. Banding an arm around his back is treachery. He's always been keenly aware of the blood staining his hands, but touching his lover with these hands is unforgivably traitorous, particularly since they've wrought the other's sorrow. Still, he pulls him near and wonders why the physician can't hear his mimicry of a heart creaking. At this range, the sound should deafen.

Tonight, the blond's fingers etch patterns in his skin, trailing heat in their wake. Hirato stills them before heat gives rise to fire and fire to intent. "You should rest," he says apologetically. Desiring Akari makes him feel reprehensible. Sometimes, it's not at all enjoyable to torment.

"I wonder," the researcher inquires pensively, "do you deny me on account of remorse?"

A sharp gasp slices the quietude as the assertion lands with stunning force. The captain takes several minutes to gather himself, and when he does, his cadence is borne by much more than culpability. "Akari..."

"Consider the company before dissembling. I might have been dulled momentarily, but I've worked it out now." Measured, careful words, yes, but the brunet isn't fooled. This is Akari at his most rueful, most disappointed.

"I wasn't going to lie, actually. Only explain." Deception is ineffectual, he knows, so disclosure is what's left. "My choice was between hurting you and possibly losing you." A weary sigh escapes him. "I made a decision. I won't lose you; to this end, I'll commit any evil." Hirato's arms extricate themselves instinctively at that, as if _his_ sins might mar _his lover's_ soul. They come to rest above his head, fists curled so tightly that fingernails leave tiny red crescents along his palm.

"It wasn't your choice to make." Akari's anger chills their bed although he speaks in barely a whisper. "It was mine."

"I know." And he does. He really does.

"How am I supposed to forgive you?"

That rare tremor in the doctor's tone shatters Hirato's mock heart as thoroughly as the knowledge that follows thereafter: "I don't expect you will."

They've not moved. A hand rests on the captain's chest, a fall of soft hair tickles his skin. Even so, night's shadows grow darker somehow, lengthening ominously and threatening to overwhelm. He can intuit what's forthcoming without much difficulty. Akari's pain is tangible; it's never felt quite so strong. "I want so desperately to hate you - to rage, to leave, to erase the very _memory_ of you." A breath catches in Hirato's throat as the researcher continues in a defeated manner more efficacious than any sort of irritated snapping. "Have you any idea what you've done? Azana was a protegé, a ward. I cared very deeply for him despite his actions towards me."

 _But_ I _care more about you,_ the brunet thinks. He wants nothing more than to spare Akari, to alleviate every trace of his agony, to shelter and protect him until the world rights itself. Unfortunately, worlds don't right themselves upon command, and he's witnessed enough depravity and violence to question whether they right themselves at all. So he responds as his pragmatism dictates. "Hate me, then. I won't fault you. If you're alive, I'll take hate."

For nearly an hour, nothing is exchanged except the steady ebb and flow of breathing and the synchronized beating of two hearts, crippled though said hearts may be at present.

"I tried. I can't because I love you." It sounds enfeebled, not romantic in the least. Resigned, like he'd prefer otherwise. Devastated, like it's a malediction. It sounds _guilty._

The confession shouldn't cause a dull ache to settle in Hirato's chest. It shouldn't rend him apart so savagely. But it does for myriad reasons, each a shard of mirrorglass slicing deeper than the last. A maelstrom of emotions breaks the surface of both facades. It shrouds the two like cold, dense mist. Still, one of the captain's hands glides across pale shoulders with exceeding reserve... and the other gently brushes aside strawberry blond hair. An apology is unconscionable, so he presses his lips to Akari's forehead, remarkably grateful that the doctor permits even this fleeting kiss. "Then I'll endeavor to be worthy of that love."

It's the only promise he'll never break.


	13. Concerns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A bit of) smut incoming.

I.

The first time it happens, two airship captains have waylaid an inordinately busy researcher into attending a "tea party." In mid-afternoon. Again. Akari seldom converses during these occasions, preferring instead to impart his considerable wisdom upon more astute interlocutors. So he drinks. After his third scotch, the blond realizes he's headed towards the kind of hangover that results in malpractice. He opts to retire. The room spins as he stands. When he places his hand on the table to steady himself, another settles on top of it lightly.

"Are you okay, Akari-san?" Hirato asks, mischief curling his tone.

"Of course I am. I'm not some idiotic teenager unaware of his own limits." _...unlike you two_ , he thinks as he stalks off.

II.

Akari loses a patient. It's rare for him, no doubt, but he supposes that infrequency only exacerbates feelings of helplessness. He's in his office reviewing the course of treatment and any mistakes contained therein when a black-clad figure enters without knocking.

"What do you want?" The words lack their customary venom.

"Are you okay, doctor?" Hirato inquires in a subdued voice, his trademark deviltry absent from violet irises. He appears _sincere_. It's unnerving. And Akari hasn't the wherewithal to play games.

"I'm fine. Just too tired for your schemes at present."

Hirato leaves wordlessly.

III.

The physician readjusts his necktie; he'll have to be mindful today. He's wondering if being marked like so is worth the sensation of Hirato's teeth scoring delicate flesh when his cellphone chimes, registering a text.

_Akari, are you okay regarding last night's events?_

_How presumptuous. One night with you is not sufficient to unmoor my sanity._

_No? How about two then?_ Another chime. _Or twenty?_

IV.

'Scandalous' is far too mild a word. Hirato has the SSS-ranked researcher bent over his own desk, graceful fingers pressing into a hipbone with enough force to bruise. Truly, this is debauchery at its finest. But neither man is the underachieving sort, and 'finest' isn't quite adequate. As such, the captain lifts his knee onto the desktop, bringing along a pale, lean leg with it. The doctor's resultant moan verges on musical, yes, but they've crafted whole arias thusly. When Hirato grips the opposite edge for leverage, Akari's back arches and his hands scrabble impotently for purchase. The brunet slides an expert tongue along the shell of his ear, whispering in a concerned manner entirely incongruous with such rough handling. "Akari, are-"

"Ask me if I'm okay now," the blond manages between gasps, "...and I'll kill you."

A dark chuckle, and then Hirato's mouth closes over his neck and bites down. Hard. Akari's vision blazes white as he's rendered completely, blissfully insensible while secure hands hold him steady and soft lips skim along his shoulder-blade.

V.

Akari is okay. Even so, Hirato will never stop asking.


	14. Pasts

Tsukitachi's "tea parties" are typically work-related. Honestly. But tonight's conversation is casual, much to the chagrin of his companions. Neither is particularly forthright regarding personal matters, after all.

"...and I never loved again." The redhead concludes a saga complete with disapproving fathers, lovers' pacts, and incredibly enough, high-speed car chases.

"Perhaps that's best. You were nearly arrested the first time," Hirato says dryly.

"And killed," Akari adds.

"How rich, you guys, for _you_ to crush my dreams of love." Tsukitachi winks. "Especially since you've finally found each other." Immediately, an uncomfortable silence settles upon the trio. Circus' first captain realizes he's just charged his friends with hypocrisy - friends who are disinclined to forgive such accusations lightly. He clears his throat and continues, hoping to assuage the sudden tension. "Unless you were first loves, eh? Then I'll concede your point." A roguish smile is insufficient armor against the withering look he's receiving from the other commander.

"Yes. That would have been ideal," Akari says thoughtfully.

Violet irises snap upon ruby with stunning alacrity. "What?" Calmness carries the rich baritone, but the redhead knows malice lingers beyond its placidity.

"Oh, I see. You thought you'd ensnared some untouched, ethereal creature? So presumptuous," the doctor scoffs.

"Who?" Hirato's tone remains light - carefree, even. Yet the room chills perceptibly.

"A medical school professor before I joined Research Tower." The researcher's smirk is telling; clearly, he's relishing the proceedings. Tsukitachi almost chokes. _Hirato is a terrible influence on Akari-chan,_ he thinks.

"You were involved with your instructor?" the brunet asks, still largely collected albeit a trace disquieted now.

"Technically, you're similarly engaged." Akari was indeed an instructor during the airship captains' matriculation at Kuronomei, but this fact does nothing to mollify the other man. If anything, a lethal potentiality manifests in the square of his shoulders and the cant of his head.

"We'll discuss this later." Hirato's cadence suggests nothing ostensibly threatening, but all present parties _feel_ icy menace gathering.

"Will we now?" Remarkably, the blond chuckles in a manner uncannily reminiscent of his bedmate. "How patriarchal."

Mocking laughter - that's what prompts the ordinarily unflappable captain's faltering. Instantly, he invades every millimeter of Akari's personal space, one hand gripping the edge of Tsukitachi's dining table so forcefully it creaks. He motions to speak and is rendered mute by the gentlest, most fleeting brush of lips against his.

"This impetuous? _You?_ I wonder if I should be flattered or concerned." The physician's affect softens considerably. "In either case, your lack of precision is staggering. I said that I'd have preferred _not_ being involved previously. Even amoeba can comprehend that, right?"

Hirato regains his composure with characteristic swiftness after that. "Then why-"

"Why bother telling you?" Akari offers, an uncommonly affectionate expression alighting his face. "Think about it. I'm sure you'll understand."

Tsukitachi understands perfectly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretentious author's note: I'm being intentionally vague about what's to understand. If you've loved before, if you've lost before, I think you'll understand. If you haven't... well, then you have my envy.
> 
> Also, I find it hard to believe that a 33-year-old hasn't had a single romantic relationship. I know folks assume Akari is all virginal, but I'm not inclined to see him that way. I hope his character works here.
> 
> Goodnight, everyone.


	15. Torments

Circus' Second Captain is inscrutable outside of his obvious fetish for tormenting others.

This is the only secure deduction one might make regarding Hirato. Everything else about the man is a carefully-constructed house of cards, a deft legerdemain concealing whatever's within. Apart from a tendency to send acquaintances into homicidal rages, nothing surfaces.

So Akari is supremely bewildered when the cunning devil suddenly stops taunting.

He notices at Round Table. Tsukitachi is expectedly feckless, lithe legs crossed impertinently atop the table. By comparison, the second commander typically _looks_ attentive, although he intermittently tosses rather lascivious glances at Akari. The researcher often wonders if this flighty flirtation intimates any genuine sentiment or is simply another means of vexation. But today, Hirato is downright engrossed in their superiors' conversation, leaving a slightly disquieted doctor wondering when tissue samples became so thoroughly captivating.

Akari registers the clawing sensation in his stomach; it's definitely hunger and _not_ disappointment.

Afterwards, there's suggestion of yet another tea party. The physician's mind flickers to the ungodly stacks of paperwork monopolizing his desk, but he attends nonetheless, driven by Tsukitachi's coercion and _not_ his own curiosity vis-à-vis Hirato's seeming apathy. The occasion is unusually subdued, with Tsukitachi being characteristically effusive and Hirato being uncharacteristically silent. Ruby orbs appraise the brunet furtively, but if the weight of their stare is felt, the commander does not indicate thus.

Later, Akari rearranges the medical journals and reference volumes crowding his bookshelves - because the task is long overdue, and _not_ because he's having trouble smothering the dull ache settling in his chest. After a third attempt at placing 'Theoretical Particle Physics' in proper alphabetical order, he concedes that he should perhaps interrogate his own feelings rather than Hirato's. A light knock interrupts said contemplation.

The object of his thoughts strides in, clearly having abandoned all pretense of reserve. There's mischief in the twist of his mouth, roguery in violet eyes. Even that prowling gait is suggestive of things that Akari loathes himself for imagining.

The doctor forces anger in compensation for such indecorous ideation. "What do you want?" he snaps.

"Why so irritable, Akari-san? Have I done something to upset you?"

"Your mere presence upsets me."

Bemused regard is the other's only response. "Admit it," a vibrant baritone mocks, "you missed my teasing."

"Who would miss being tormented by an incorrigible bastard?" Akari scoffs, turning his back before the blush creeping across his cheeks betrays.

A displacement of air signifies that Hirato is now immediately behind him, as does warm breath licking his neck. _Honestly_ , _he moves_ _like_ _a_ _predatory_ _cat_ , the blond thinks before quirked lips press against his ear. He'd have been successful at biting back the resultant gasp had he not been ambushed like so. "No?" The captain's laugh sends shivers along a taut spine; his very proximity is heady. "That's too bad. I could tease you forever."

Sure, Hirato is largely indecipherable. At times, however, an intelligent man might intuit his motives with little difficulty.


	16. Dates

The first time Hirato invites Akari on a date, the researcher appears reluctant. He acquiesces nonetheless.

Hirato's not convinced either, but they've been involved for nearly a year. Perhaps a date is overdue. And while he's not remotely unsatisfied with the physical aspect of their relationship, he feels a trace of obligation. Akari is important, he reasons—more important than the nameless, faceless others who've shared his bed. His belated preoccupation with romance is simply a means of demonstrating this. It has nothing to do with the doctor's history and the doubtless enchanting, charismatic, and damnably brilliant professor who haunts that history.

Circus' second captain isn't usually given to such hyperbolic imaginings. He blames the acute lack of rationality on his atypically frustrating lover.

They dine in Vantnam. Hirato selects a cozy restaurant in the old town. The lights are dim, the patrons' chatter soft and surprisingly relaxing, classical music floats melodiously, and the wine is exceptional. It's an immaculate choice on the commander's part. Even so, conversation is forced and rarely strays afield of idle exchange. Defense agency members cannot discuss work freely, after all, and any talk of their relationship seems taboo outside the bedroom.

The brunet considers consigning the evening to failure. Then again, he misses how opaline eyes linger hungrily on deft hands as he signs the check.

After leaving, Hirato interlaces their fingers, completely ignoring the inquisitive quirk of a light brow. "So, my dear doctor, where would you like to go next?"

"We're still performing this farce? Dinner was a waste of time." Akari isn't ungrateful; there's playfulness in his tone that only a companion would perceive.

Hirato chuckles affably and continues pulling him along. "I wouldn't say that. The food was excellent."

"I hadn't noticed."

The captain's attention wavers as he endeavors to salvage their night. "Oh? Why not?" he inquires distractedly.

It's Akari's turn to smirk. "Because I spent the last hour wondering what it would take to divest you of your clothes."

Not much is the answer. Not much at all, in fact.

Well after midnight, a sated physician broaches the topic of dates again. His heated murmur tickles the back of Hirato's neck. "Listen you sly bastard, I know you wear masks, even with me..."

"You're—" the brunet conciliates, but an arm slips over his shoulders. The pad of Akari's thumb comes to rest against his mouth, effecting silence.

"Let me finish." Curved lips glide across recently over-stimulated skin, sending minute sparks of pleasure racing through Hirato's body. He smiles. _When_ _did_ _Akari_ _start_ _using my own tricks against me?_ The researcher's whisper issues forth between grazes of teeth along the shell of an ear. "Don't you think the Don Juan trope is unforgivably trite for a man of your caliber?" A sharp bite, followed by a soothing lick. "Be whoever you like, whenever you like. But remember that I want you like _this_."

Dates are pointless, Hirato concludes. It's fortunate, really. He's entirely too covetous of Akari to share him with the world.


	17. Injuries

Hirato has sinned irredeemably. He realized it even while shoving Akari aside as Varuga attacked.

Indigo irises appraise the doctor's now-battered form. Monsters didn't break his arm or precipitate the collection of abrasions visible through shredded clothes. No, these injuries are resultant of Hirato's unintended forcefulness.

Contrition proves impotent against longing, however, and moonlight finds the brunet exploring porcelain skin with exceeding care. His hand ghosts along Akari's arm, avoiding his cast and interlacing their fingers—effectively immobilizing the limb in order to prevent discomfort. He's stilled by a sharp inhale. The blond's pleasure typically resides along the razor's edge of pain, but this is different. Hirato extricates himself before things escalate. Perhaps desire yields to guilt after all.

"What's wrong?" Akari inquires in concern.

"We should stop." _…before I break you_ , the captain supplies mentally.

"I'm fine."

"You mistake me. _We_ should stop."

It's not novel—ending a physical relationship so abruptly. Lovers have fumed, cursed, and negotiated. Hirato's equanimity obtained through everything. But Akari isn't a lover; he's a beloved. Important. Singular. Deserving of sacrifice.

The researcher doesn't rage or bicker like so many others; he only nods impassively. After wordlessly straightening his clothing, he leaves.

Weeks later, Circus' second captain receives an order from Bizante: _You will personally provide security for Research Tower's expedition to Niji Forest per Akari's request. Compliance is mandatory._

"That manipulative bastard." Hirato sighs resignedly. "I must be a terrible influence."

They remain silent _en_ _route_. With both teams in tow, meaningful conversation is impossible. Anyway, the doctor is thoroughly captivated by the view—like every caged bird, he loves to fly. The commander once endeavored in all ways to keep the blond's head in the clouds. He smothers a sudden urge to take Akari's hand, recognizing that he's forfeited the right.

After landing, Akari separates from his subordinates. Ever dutiful, Hirato follows suit. He approaches a cliff's edge, its stunning vista almost as breathtaking as the man at his side.

"You're an A-class jerk," Akari says calmly, ruby gaze seeking an imaginary horizon. "An unrepentant manipulator. Frustratingly unmovable. I'd be justified in mangling you." The physician then levels those incredible eyes at him. They're searching, thoughtful. "And dangerous. One push and I'm covered in bruises. I shudder to imagine our… _liaisons_ if you didn't remove your ID beforehand. Furthermore, you would kill without hesitation and dissemble without blinking."

"...you've long known that."

"Indeed. And I know that despite this, I'm safest beside you," Akari states, lobbing the proverbial ball squarely in the brunet's court. "Somewhere in that primitive brain, you know it too. Who _else_ would you trust with my life?"

Several breaths pass.

 _Not even Tsukitachi,_ Hirato concludes, _and I trust him with mine._

A gloved hand wraps around an uninjured arm, drawing the other close.

"Caught on?" the researcher quips. "Remarkable. Higher-functioning amoeba do exist."

"Leave the teasing to me, hmm?" He does precisely that, skimming affectionate lips along Akari's jaw. "I'm better at it."

Hirato withdraws after a swift kiss and regards the injury in downcast eyes—injury as excruciating as broken bones and scraped flesh.

 _Never again,_ he swears. And somewhat selfishly: _Not even for your own good._


	18. Indiscretions

Akari often forgets that Hirato is six years his junior. The commander has experienced things that would mature even the most intransigent of adolescents, after all.

There are times, however, when Hirato is no better than said adolescents. In fact, he's always been an odd mixture of impish and dutiful. This contradictory nature has baffled the doctor since they met.

* * *

All Kuronomei holds Akari-sensei in awe. The staggeringly young lecturer is a prodigy of incalculable genius. He's also known throughout the academy as a frustratingly tough instructor whose capacity for tolerance is directly relational to the intellectual prowess of his interlocutor. Despite this, students crowd his classrooms. The professor's lectures are legendary. Lingering just beyond the searing brilliance contained therein is wittiness only perceptible to the most astute. Furthermore, he possesses an enigmatic, otherworldly beauty that inspires all manner of daydreaming.

Akari recognizes as much, of course. Actually, his standoffishness is a farce designed to repel besotted students. This strategy rarely fails until he's asked to guest lecture for the Circus Course.

The strawberry blond has gone through the finer points of emergency ID repair when he notices that one pupil appears entirely too engrossed in a hologram for note-taking. His presentations may be masterful, but they're certainly not _mesmerizing_. Clearly, this disrespectful idiot is passing messages in class. Akari slinks forward, hands clasped behind his back, vermillion gaze trained on his inky-haired target. Suddenly, he slams his palms against the irredeemable lout's desk. Wily violet orbs widen behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Am I not entertaining enough for you?" he inquires. Absolute silence abounds.

The youth _smirks._ Small though it is, this gesture causes the researcher's fingers to curl against dark wood. In response, a confident hand settles atop them, thumb brushing along his skin playfully. Novices might have bristled; Akari's only tell is the minute tightening of his brows.

He's wondering why this insolent… _bastard_ is audacious enough to flirt when the fool speaks. "Quite the contrary, Akari-sensei. You are positively riveting." Inappropriate but politely-articulated. Exceedingly so on both indices.

Gasps resound. The blond ignores them and looms over Hirato threateningly. "Then pay attention," he growls, feeling rather unsettled at such forwardness. "Or get out."

* * *

Some things never change.

Akari is reporting to Round Table. In his periphery, Hirato surreptitiously drops an ink pen and ducks to retrieve it. Roguery is at work, the physician knows, but he continues, bemoaning the fact that he is now bereft of writing instrument.

Below, Hirato's hand circles his ankle. A gloved thumbnail scratches along delicate flesh with enough force to momentarily derail genius thought processes. Next, he senses that electric touch gliding up his clothed leg. The doctor clears his throat and stifles an exasperated sigh, realizing precisely how scandalous this looks: Hirato under the table, Akari losing his composure, and Tsukitachi grinning lasciviously.

Once they're dismissed, he rounds furiously on his lover. "Do you ever grow up, you childish jerk?" He's determined to rage mercilessly when Tokitatsu's text message interrupts:

_Should I separate you and Hirato next time? ;)_

Immaturity is a genetically-determined trait, Akari concludes. He has the evidence to prove it.


	19. Facades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 5AM in London and I'm writing crack and smut for want of sleep. Don't read this chapter if you want even mediocre editing and real meaning. You'll find neither.

Akari makes artistry out of demolishing the captain's facades.

The first of his schemes is appallingly simple—so much so, in fact, that Hirato ought to be embarrassed. It's clear the brunet loathes being second, to any person certainly, but to paperwork and experiments as well. The protozoan also thinks his alarmingly possessive tendencies have gone unnoticed. Perhaps by the inepts at Circus, but researchers are inherently perceptive. It's no surprise, then, that the doctor catches amethyst eyes _glaring_ at Hearty while Akari cleans his cage and replenishes food and water.

The brunet attempts conversation. Akari merely tuts noncommittally, seemingly too distracted to engage his companion at present. Hirato grows increasingly menacing at such meticulous care of a lab animal—care he's claimed for _himself_. It's obvious that he would delight in ripping the tiny furball into innumerable pieces.

This murderous intent is made clearer when Akari deposits said furball in a gloved hand. "Don't drop him."

Spectacles flash in indignation. "I'm too skilled for this."

"I'll be sure to compensate you adequately for your services then."

Hirato hisses. "Damn." Apparently, Hearty's drawn blood. "Why keep him at all? He bites."

"So do you," Akari responds dismissively, a victorious smirk alighting his lips. The captain isn't affectionate by any imaginative stretch, but neither is he in danger of crushing the little cretin, not when the physician has requested otherwise. The situation is supremely humorous: One of the most dangerous men in the country, defeated by a ball of pink fur.

An attention-seeking Hirato is so easily made pliable. All one need do is temporarily withhold attention. (If one is Akari, that is.)

The researcher's second strategy is more efficacious. 'Ambush' is the only accurate descriptor. He anticipates Hirato's return. As always, the commander is immaculate, from his perfectly symmetrical tie knot to the crisp crease of his trousers. He's not removed either coat or gloves before Akari slams him against the door, swift fingers unbuttoning that cumbersome overcoat while a demanding mouth samples surprised lips. Simultaneously, the blond makes short work of Hirato's belt and slips dexterous hands below, eliciting a strained groan.

When clever fingers are replaced by a cleverer tongue, the race is on. Hirato attempts to fully undress before he comes apart at his lover's virtuosity. He'd prefer a prolonged romp, after all. Here, he's disadvantaged. A brilliant doctor knows precisely how to tease, where to touch, and what manner of swirl of tongue against sensitive skin will reduce incessant mockery to a string of unintelligible sounds punctuated by the syllables of Akari's name.

The two collapse on the floor. Akari props himself up and appraises the disheveled mess he's made of the brunet—glasses askew, hat and coat discarded haphazardly, tie slipping loose from a rumpled shirt, and unruly hair a wild tangle of black. Hirato looks thoroughly-debauched. He looks like _sin_ … until he speaks (around uneven breaths).

"Adequate compensation indeed, but utterly devilish of you, doctor. What would your staff say about such trickery?"

"They'd likely congratulate me on how well-had you appear."

Hirato laughs—an unguarded, sincere laugh that's reserved for Akari alone. It's generous remittance for the blond's ardent efforts.


	20. Defenses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt fill: "Akari's POV. Hirato is upset—not angry, but upset."

Only intimate acquaintances would apprehend the shift in Hirato's affect. It's an almost imperceptible nuance—more mischief imbues his carriage, more lilt underlies his tone. Outsiders might conclude that he's in uncommonly high spirits.

Akari is no outsider. To him, melancholy clings to his lover like mist.

"What's wrong?" the blond prompts, carding chary hands through raven hair.

The ensuing laugh is too artificial, even for Hirato. "Why do you think something's wrong, Akari-san?" Iciness edges a perfunctory kiss as the captain stands and slips past.

"Akari- _san_?" the doctor inquires, but the other man is already beyond reach.

He's convinced he misinterpreted the morning's conversation until Tsukitachi visits. "What's wrong with Hirato?" Their third member is devoid of characteristic aplomb.

"I was right then." Akari's heart twists at the conclusion.

"It's like he's trying too hard. I wonder why."

No answer presents itself, so the physician replies with his latest preoccupation. "Tsukitachi, what do you do when you're powerless to help, but simply doing nothing is impossible?"

"You do what you can, Akari-chan."

Upon returning home he finds Hirato seated serenely on the sofa, wearing the same vacuous smile that's haunted him all afternoon. "How was your day, doctor?"

Akari's breath catches at the stunning facility with which his bedmate dissembles. Even so, he cups the brunet's chin, obliging attentiveness. Rhinestone irises gleam behind those spectacles, but their luster lies. The doctor counters with sincerity, brushing an affectionate thumb along still-curved lips. "I've marked you, you know. I know languor settles in your shoulders when you're sleepy, that the severity of your gaze signifies the intensity of your anger. Cheerfulness manifests as lecherousness and exhaustion subdues you. When you climax, your fingers curl into my back, but not as forcefully as either of us want. And when you're like this, something's wrong. So please, don't insult my intelligence by denying it."

Silence falls between them, but that dark stare wavers not one iota. Neither does it betray. "Then I won't," Hirato says finally. The words aren't designed to hurt; there's no mocking, no maliciousness. Nevertheless, they scrape against the blond like sands caught in a tempest. Leaving tonight would spare him a crushing slight, he realizes. Yet he leans in, wrapping careful arms around Hirato's neck and moving in a deliberate fashion meant to afford ample opportunity for resistance. Surprisingly, needful fingers hook through his belt loops and draw him closer in desperate embrace. Akari doesn't protest, determined to provide whatever comfort his companion will accept.

_You do what you can._

The researcher's nerves are still singing from orgasm when Hirato takes his hand and nips at tingling fingertips. "Akari," he whispers through a heated breath, but its warmth ill-conceals the chill that lingers on those lips. "Thank you."

"I'll never need your gratitude." _And_ _you'll never understand how it feels to share your bed but not your trust._

Later, Akari wonders how he became the sort of man that disguises truth with pretty platitudes and vague reassurances.


	21. Thefts

There are times when the doctor weighs their trespasses. Does Hirato's sword or Akari's scalpel possess the crueler edge? Certainly death comes swiftly to those straying into his lover's sights. Perhaps this is mercy. The realization suggests that Akari's the more barbarous of the two. It makes a twisted sort of sense. He takes lives while performing the pantomime of a healer, after all.

Experimenting on live subjects isn't novel. He's been an adept since joining Research Tower years ago. Varuga aren't human _,_ he's learned. The words are repeated like a mantra; they provide a modicum of comfort in the ever-decreasing distance between scientist and criminal. He mourns them, though. Late at night, standing atop a rocky cliff overlooking the ocean, Akari offers prayers to non-existent gods. Sometimes he offers incense. Always, always he offers remorse.

No amount of remuneration erases the mangled figures from his mind. Not when the discovery Karokou's notebook has occasioned a new set of frighteningly similar memories.

Given this, it's especially puzzling that he rebuffs Hirato when the latter returns with blood staining his clothes. The captain showers immediately on these evenings, apparently eager to wash away the day's deeds.

Tonight, Akari contemplates why the state of Hirato's soul is more disconcerting than that of his own. No answer materializes, so he consigns this concern to his own hypocrisy. In hopes of assuaging the resultant unease, he joins his companion. The brunet is mildly surprised when the shower door slides open, but he allows Akari to step in without comment. Steaming water ripples invitingly over Hirato's back. The blond instinctively traces its flow over taut muscles. Tension builds in the flesh he's exploring, but he only registers how well he's been marked after the commander turns around.

"Why come to me now?" Hirato inquires gently, arms winding around the researcher's waist and tugging him under the spray.

Akari etches patterns into heat-flushed skin. "I want to know how."

"How what?"

Unyielding peach meets amethyst. "How you can kill mercilessly yet touch me like this—like taking me to bed is a kind of absolution."

A somber flicker clouds Hirato's features. It's replaced almost instantly with a knowing smile. The brunet's proficiency at artiface obviously remains, but his words are sincere. "We're not saints. For us, there's no salvation, no happily ever after. We must pilfer contentment."

" _Steal_ happiness?" the physician scoffs. "Such trite philosophy."

The captain chuckles affably. "You're unconvinced, hmm? I'll demonstrate then." He curls a finger under the doctor's chin and barely kisses the corner of his mouth. "Like this."

Quirked lips capture Akari's before Hirato whispers again. "And like this."

A third murmur plays along his collarbone. "And like this."

And he thinks that Hirato's blood-stained hands and deceitful lips _could_ redeem him. It's improbable, likely impossible, but if the slightest chance obtains, he'll cling to that hope.

Thievery would be the least of Akari's sins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the subject of Akari's prayers: They aren't a believer's prayers. The doctor doesn't strike me as the religious type. Rather, they're an expression of contrition - the product of an ever-rational mind coming to grips with the irrationality of guilt. Ever do something you couldn't understand? So does Akari (rarely, but still). Well, at least in my head!canon he does... I don't know if it works or not, honestly.


	22. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is longer than my typical word limit. Given the themes of the chapter, I opted to stretch the prose and let it breathe a bit.

Akari's thumb brushes Hirato's eyelashes for the briefest of moments. His fingers ghost along the brunet's sleeping face before sliding to the base of his throat and stilling.

There's a pulse there, but it's thready. And weak. Weak enough to stop the doctor's heart suddenly and send biting pain slicing through his chest. He nearly doubles over in agony. Sheer willpower and professionalism manage to hold him upright. If Research Tower staff believe he's too emotionally compromised to carry out this procedure, Bizante-sama will assign a substitute immediately.

He cannot allow that; Hirato's life, and his death, are Akari's claim.

Keen, appraising eyes take in the bloodied, mangled form that's lying upon cold steel, making all requisite observations with characteristic swiftness. In the corner of his mind unhindered with processing medical data, Akari concedes that this situation was not merely a possibility, but rather an eventuality. In fact, Hirato's been under his scalpel before. Doubtless he'll be there again. Circus consider the Second Commander little more than a weapon forged and deployed for their brutal ends, after all.

 _How dare they?_ It's an ephemeral thought. Fury flares and dissolves before he can sense its ebb and flow. He's hellishly irate at the lot of them for undervaluing someone who is—to him—the most significant object in this vast, wondrous universe. Fantasies of pulling rank and blackmailing Executive Tower flit through his psyche. _Let's see how many missions Circus' Second Ship undertakes if SSS-ranked Researcher Akari threatens to resign._

He'll never attempt such a thing; Hirato would never forgive him. That is, if the captain survives...

 _If._ Efficient, skilled hands inject more ketamine into the brunet's IV.

 _If, if, if…_ Akari barks orders to his team and marches alongside the gurney, unconsciously wrapping his fingers around Hirato's wrist while reviewing the final set of charts.

 _What if all ifs end here?_ The doctor's breath catches. Only Tsukitachi notices the minute stumble of sure steps. It's with these inquiries of 'if' whirling through his subconscious that Akari scrubs and enters the operating theater.

The first draw of blade leaves a vibrant red trail that looks plastic under the over-bright lights. Although part of the lead surgeon's dazzling mind is unsettled by the fragility of the future that awaits, no one finds fault with the steadiness of his movements—no one except Akari himself. He loathes touching Hirato like this, carving him up as if configurations of blood, flesh, vessels, and bones circumscribe everything about the man. Guilt threatens to overwhelm.

.

.

.

 _I'm sorry_ , Akari thinks. _I'm sorry for everything that's been left unsaid._ And there's so much, despite all they'd shared over the years. Even lovers keep secrets, right? Particularly, he's regretful that he never said, "I love you." Not in the manner he should have done, at least. The one time those words passed his lips, they were uttered in anger and resignation—words better-suited for inculcating guilt instead of affection.

"I love you," Akari breathes to the obsidian marker signifying his lover's resting place. "Okay. I said it." Weary legs fail and his knees hit chilled, damp grass with a dull thud. Moisture seeps into the wool of his trousers, but the discomfort doesn't register. He claws into the earth, wishing desperately that he could burrow underneath and sleep against the other man once more. "You win, Hirato. You'll always win. So please, come back."

Akari doesn't cry in earnest, even then. But he permits Tsukitachi to pull him upright and hold him close as the sky threatens to break open overhead. Hours must have elapsed; it's dark. "He promised to come back." He buries himself into the First Captain's shoulder.

Rain falls in sheets, soaking the duo. If he drowns in the deluge, he'll reconsider his bad opinion of the gods.

"I know, Akari-chan." Tsukitachi understands that nothing can soothe this kind of anguish. There's no succor he can provide except the heart-breaking truth. "He meant to come home."

.

.

.

 _That's_ not _our future._ The scenes unfurl in the recesses of Akari's cognizance. Clearly, they're fears that had resided there for years and have been jarred loose by the sight of an unconscious Hirato. Still, he pushes them aside and marshals his concentration.

Precisely then, the physician perceives the other man's scent. It's strange, no doubt. Operating rooms typically smell cold and clinical, and this one is no exception. Nevertheless, there's no mistaking that singular combination of fragrances, faint though it may be.

.

.

.

 _Sandalwood and cloves… a touch of smoke... and warmth_. Hirato's clothes retain his distinctive scent, driving Akari mad with memory and longing. He's been sleeping in them. He acknowledges how terribly irrational this is and that he cannot continue like so indefinitely. A decent man would donate them to charity. But falling asleep to Hirato's smell allays his nightmares, at least temporarily. Some part of the man he loves lingers in these quarters. No crew has stepped inside since the night their captain didn't return. They intuit that this is the doctor's territory, his burden. For once, everyone respects his privacy.

Soft sheets remain rumpled from where the two had lain together. If he closes his eyes, he can feel Hirato's touch skimming along his skin and a set of strong arms slipping around his waist. The physician's trembling fingers tangle themselves in the fabric and he promises an absent paramour that no other will take him to bed ever, ever again. The last lips he tastes will be Hirato's.

The commander's spare glasses are perched atop the nightstand. Akari picks them up absentmindedly and wonders how the world looked through those striking violet irises. When he slips them on, he finds his field of vision unchanged.

A small laugh escapes just before a few paltry tears fall in crystalline droplets against the lenses. Akari removes the spectacles and wipes his eyes. "So you didn't need these, after all. I'll bet you thought they made you look sexy." He shakes his bowed head but can't bring himself to scoff. Not really. "You bastard," he murmurs. The epithet has lost its meaning.

.

.

.

 _I told you, you bastard. That is_ not _our future. You still have to answer for this._ The episodes are instant flashes, yet even in the nanoseconds they occupy, Akari feels the full rush of emotions that such scenarios would inevitably entail: loneliness, anger, sorrow, desperation, and most frighteningly, grief. Impressively, despite these fleeting sensations floating somewhere in the nether regions of his consciousness, his attention is focused intently on executing a flawless surgery.

It's not surprising when he succeeds—not to anyone apart from himself, of course. The blond-haired researcher is all too aware of how close he came to losing everything.

'Everything' is reaping the fruits of drug-facilitated sleep when Akari finishes rounds. Tsukitachi practically ordered him to rest after Hirato stabilized, but he refused, knowing the slightest hint of fatigue or weakness could be a charge levied against his lover for rendering him falliable.

He steals into Hirato's room sometime after midnight. Research Tower has come under a heavy hush, all its staff exhausted after an unusually long day. Moonlight supplies scant illumination, but it's sufficient to see the reassuring rise and fall of the brunet's chest. The doctor sheds his lab coat and shoes and pads silently across the floor, eventually crawling under the covers and wrapping an arm around the sleeping man.

 _He's so warm,_ he thinks as he sidles closer, fitting himself into the commander's side. A reserved, chary hand slips under Hirato's nightshirt and settles on a patch of un-bandaged skin near his heart. It flutters under Akari's palm, prompting him to pilfer a kiss.

Professionalism be damned.

He's almost drifted off when Hirato stirs and moans softly, eyelids quivering for several moments before slitting open. The physician shifts away and prepares to administer more opiates. A slight tug on his sleeve stops him.

"Don't go," Hirato says creakily. Even in a murky delirium, he doesn't seem remotely taken aback at finding his partner curled against him in a hospital bed. It's like he expected as much.

"You need morphine. The pain will be back. And it will be unbearable, even for you." He sweeps aside raven hair and tucks it behind the captain's ear.

"Wait." The brunet sounds completely spent. Their conversation is exacting too steep a price on already-depleted energy reserves.

"What is it?" Akari asks, hoping to conclude the interlude quickly.

"I'm sorry." The doctor stills and swallows his shock. Indigo orbs are unusually reluctant to meet cerise. "You're remarkable, you know. Trying to spare me pain even though I hurt you very deeply." He speaks in a small, tired whisper, yet Akari can hear the sentiment with startling clarity. Such remorse is not precipitated by his fulfillment of duty. Indeed, he's not at fault there. His guilt is resultant of doing so unthinkingly, without proper reverence toward the feelings of the one he leaves behind. On that score, he's most certainly culpable.

 _But an apology? He's more mentally incapacitated than I thought,_ Akari thinks playfully while pressing curved lips to Hirato's head. "You came back. Everything else can wait."

"Not everything."

"What's so urgent?"

"When you climb into this bed again, you had better be naked." That little remark will cost. Dark eyelashes dance against pale cheeks while Hirato's breathing deepens. He manages a tiny chuckle nevertheless. "You were so cute pressed against me like I'd somehow disappear."

"Shut up," Akari's mock irritation ill-conceals his relief. He rises, fills a syringe, and injects it into the IV. "You're incorrigible."

"Mmmm," the brunet nods in agreement, the shadow of a smirk curling his mouth. "Get used to it."

"I am."

"Good... because I'll always come back to you." The promise is carried on a soft exhale as he nods off.

Akari's not naïve enough to believe such a promise can be kept. Neither is Hirato. But both implicitly recognize that endeavoring to keep it will demand more caution on the captain's part, more fighters on Airship Two's inordinately dangerous missions, and _no more_ incorrigible fools going it alone unless absolutely necessary.

It's not enough. It's not nearly enough. Nothing short of retirement will suffice. But for now, it keeps Akari's waking nightmares at bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akari is an emotional wreck in the flashforward(?) sequences. That was intentional on my part. My reasoning is that losing Hirato might shatter his characteristic stoicism, particularly since Hirato seems to be one of the few who can get under his skin in canon. I get that Akari typically bites back his emotions. My point in this chapter is to envision a scenario wherein he is rendered unable to do so. Losing the one person who matters more than anyone else might warrant a few tears (but only a few). Also, bear in mind he's not at work/public in those sequences. With the exception of Tsukitachi in the first one, he's completely alone. Facades are worn for the benefit of other people.
> 
> And if you're still not buying my argument, then I'll appeal to the fact that those scenes never really happened. ;) Anyway, I'd like to hear from you. Character experts, please weigh in: Is the good doctor OOC?


	23. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A FF.net reader asked me for some Akari/Tsukitachi interaction. This is the result of that prompt. Apparently, I can't see anyone with Akari except Hirato. 
> 
> Go figure.

Akari doesn't realize it's a date. Hirato does, and the very thought makes his fingers itch for his cane… or Tsukitachi's throat. Either will suffice.

The recently-promoted Second Captain has more pressing matters to attend than whether or not his colleague is making romantic overtures towards the doctor. Stacks of paperwork monopolize his desk. Airship Two needs new crew. Probably, he should be sharpening his own prowess, both combative and administrative.

Despite all these urgent tasks, he follows Tsukitachi and Akari to a nondescript coffee shop.

Successfully spying on Circus-trained personnel is tantamount to developing professional skills, he reasons. As such, he feels not one whit of guilt, particularly since Tsukitachi has a well-earned reputation for being a heart-breaking lothario whose conquests include men and women ranging from Kuronomei trainees to members of Executive Tower.

Akari is doubtless aware of the redhead's arrant philandering, but the brilliantly incisive idiot seems uncharacteristically oblivious to Tsukitachi's intentions towards him. Hirato isn't; he was present when the other captain conveniently asked an unusually exhausted researcher to coffee.

"Yo, Akari-chan, you look like you're in need of stimulation." Tsukitachi's golden eyes sparkle with mirth.

"Excuse me?" A light brow quirks in warning.

The commander titters, shrugging nervously and recalibrating his former bravado. "Now, now. I only meant coffee. I'm on my way out for some. Care to join?"

"I suppose I could use the energy boost," Akari agrees with a caveat, "but I'll only subject myself to fifteen minutes of your company."

The two brush past Hirato, who's largely nonplussed until he's given cause to be otherwise. His first indication of Tsukitachi's lecherous motives is the fact that _he's_ not been invited—not that he minds. Not really. The second, more infuriating signifier is the red-headed captain's roguish wink as he slinks out the door, hand splayed low on the physician's back.

Such patent disrespect of SSS-ranked officials is unacceptable. Naturally, then, Hirato's charge is to trail them. He settles in a strategically-positioned booth several yards away from his marks. Plum-hued eyes have an unobstructed view, but they'd have to stand to catch any glimpse of the dark figure huddled in the corner of the café.

He's secretly reveling in his own stealthiness when the sight of a gloved hand closing around Akari's wrist nearly unsettles him. To sensei's credit, he remains unmovable as ever: He breaks away from the younger man, body language intimating obvious disinterest.

The next fifteen minutes consist of slow torture for all involved. Tsukitachi endeavors to inch closer to the resisting researcher and Hirato quietly seethes, becoming increasingly aggravated with each elapsed second. Simply observing from afar as the other man leans forward to tuck a strand of strawberry blond hair behind Akari's ear requires immeasurable self-control. Thankfully (for Tsukitachi), the physician has had enough; he stands abruptly and marches off, both supremely discomfited and irritated by such forwardness.

Hirato pursues, leaving a disappointed first commander to sulk. He makes mental note to clarify the situation for his licentious colleague in the near future, the _immediate_ future, in fact. After returning to Research Tower, he ambushes the doctor, grabbing him by the arm and herding him against his door.

Akari yelps in surprise. "What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he snaps, pushing at his aggressor futilely. "Let me go."

"What the hell do you think _you're_ doing, Akari-san," Hirato inquires in an unnervingly pleasant tone, "going on dates with Tsukitachi?"

"It wasn't a date," the blond sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"He thought it was."

"You followed us?" Akari's composure disintegrates; long fingers curl viciously into the captain's sides, a ruby gaze narrows, and even his voice trembles with ire. "And if it was a date? I'm well-acquainted with Tsukitachi's predatory tendencies… and yours, might I add. Has it never occurred to your protozoan brain that I'm not some impotent, distressed damsel in need of your protection?"

"Has it never occurred to your supposedly genius brain that you're not the one I'm protecting?" It's just vague enough to frustrate, and Hirato's closed expression divulges nothing.

Before the doctor can solidify the attendant connections, the brunet crushes their lips together. Unbelievably, Akari doesn't struggle. Likely, he's so staggered that the second captain's mouth is so inviting and ardent that all thought processes cease. _More_ _likely_ , he's contriving escape. No matter. Hirato will welcome rejection when the man tastes of everything he's always craved—pique tempered with a trace of sweetness. Like bitter chocolate infused with chili, or the finest rare scotch taken neat. Indulgent. Addictive.

He pulls away with some difficulty, knowing that endless series of questions are flitting about the researcher's psyche. It's amusing to watch him prioritize them. It will be ceaselessly entertaining to watch him make sense of this unexpected intimacy.

"What… exactly… was that?" Akari asks cautiously, scanning his face for answers. Surely a man of SSS caliber can guess, but Hirato knows he won't. Not when the stakes are this high.

If the captain would permit, those stunning opaline irises would disrobe him in every conceivable way, laying bare his own salacious intent, and devastatingly, his intent of a less salacious sort. The blond's deductive faculties are nonpareil, after all, and rarely err. Unfortunately for Research Tower's resident genius, Circus' Second Commander isn't given to betraying himself so cheaply, or ever. "I won't be bested by Tsukitachi," he responds, a smirk twisting his lips and his meaning.

Several minutes pass in pregnant silence. Finally, the physician reacts... precisely as predicted. "Get out!" he growls furiously. "Get out _now_ , you bastard. I hate you!"

Akari is irresistible when incensed, all ruffled feathers, threatening affect, flashing eyes, and alluring, flushed skin. It's almost enough to make Hirato essay another go. He resists. Instead, he merely bows formally. "My apologies for disturbing you, Akari-san," he deadpans, inciting a homicidal rage in the other man before taking his leave.

The doctor will never voluntarily allow him within striking range again, that much is certain. But the brunet is equally sure that their kiss will linger in the other's recollection—whenever Akari attempts to maintain his distance, he'll do so in response to the feel of their breaths mingling.

Hirato resolves to invoke the memory as often as possible.


	24. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really did write a Tsukitachi/Akari pairing for my FF.net reader. Consider this drabble a Karnevalesque AU wherein Hirato is the third wheel, Akari really hates him, and Tsukitachi is slyly observant.

A virtuoso of masquerade himself, Second Commander Hirato is supernaturally incisive when observing others.

Yet he need not rely on his inimitable skill to know that Tsukitachi's hand rests atop Akari's thigh under the dining table. He guesses too that the doctor relishes the touch from the way he leans towards his lover automatically, unconsciously. Delicate pink lips curve almost imperceptibly, doubtless at the thought of the other's fingers exploring unclothed skin.

Sometimes, the second captain resents his perceptive faculties.

"Hirato, are you listening?" Tsukitachi demands playfully. "Or are you remembering the sexy researcher from last night?"

The brunet motions to answer when Akari cuts in. "Wait, you're sleeping with _my_ staff?"

"I shouldn't think my bedmates would concern you, Akari-san."

"Oh, take Round Table to bed if you want," the physician barks, ignoring Tsukitachi's nervous arm slipping around his shoulders, "but keep your treacherous claws off Research Tower."

"I'm ever at your command, doctor," Hirato inclines his head deferentially, aware sincerity will be completely lost on his interlocutor. Akari's ill opinion of him determines all their interactions.

Unsurprisingly, the blond bristles. "Your insolence is second only to your depravity."

"Now, now, in Hirato's defense, Ozaki-kun is _very_ attractive," Tsukitachi interrupts brightly. He pulls Akari near, clearly hoping to mollify him through mere proximity.

Ruby irises flash in warning. "Excuse me?"

"Right… ah, not _that_ attractive…" The first commander falters with a poorly-advised wink. Akari remains unmoved. "And Hirato shouldn't sleep with attractive Research Tower personnel…" A light brow arches wryly at the misstep, but the twist of the doctor's mouth intimates immense amusement. "I mean… _just_ attractive personnel… shit… personnel just because they're attractive!" Realizing he's created an incomprehensible mess, the captain shakes his head and sighs in defeat. "Screw it. It was really, really wrong of him to seduce Ozaki-kun. Better, Akari-chan?"

Akari stills, arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together. Even so, Hirato notes that he's not extricated himself from the other's hold nor flown into a seismic rage. When Tsukitachi captures those pursed lips by way of apology, Akari hesitates before breaking away. "Good effort, Tsuki- _chan_ , but try earnestness next time," he says, sarcastic emphasis on the ridiculous nickname. But his half-smirk betrays fondness.

The blond heads to their bedroom, leaving a deflated First Commander in his wake. Hirato can only snicker.

"What?" Tsukitachi snaps.

"Akari-san is the jealous type? How cute."

"He's not, actually. He's just annoyed by your corrupting influence."

"So you've turned traitor as a result? Well, he's certainly a handful," Hirato says mischievously.

"And you'd know from watching so closely, wouldn't you?" Golden orbs level unflinchingly on violet, making it inescapably clear that the second captain is not the only one possessing keen acuity. "I've long known of your feelings," Tsukitachi admits.

"Your point?" he prompts, not bothering to dissemble. Such methods lose all efficacy before a mirror. "Are you insinuating betrayal?"

"No. You're not that sort of bastard," the redhead's affect softens. "It's that I'm sorry. But you never confessed, Hirato. So I did."

"Akari-san always hated me."

"You made it easy."

Amazingly, the brunet is unresistingly forthright. "I figured if I couldn't secure even an iota of his affection—"

"—you'd _monopolize_ his loathing."

They may have marked _one_ _another_ well, but neither man catches the razor-thin strip of illumination framing the bedroom door, nor the shadow that lingers beyond.


	25. Truths

1\. Hirato loves marking the delicate skin of his lover's neck and collarbone. Conversely, he's largely unenthusiastic about the fingerprint-patterned bruises along the doctor's hipbone or the scarlet abrasions circling his fine wrists.

2\. Akari cherishes every memento of their trysts, whether placed voluntarily by Hirato's gentle worrying of his flesh or via persuasion by his own directives of harder and faster. They're evidence of ownership, and he craves that feeling of belonging most of all.

3\. Flattery gets Hirato nowhere, but incessant teasing never fails.

4\. Once, they inadvertently dressed in each other's clothes. Akari's unaware that Hirato had switched the positions of their discarded clothing in the middle of the night. The blond is unbelievably alluring in the captain's rumpled shirt, after all.

5\. The commander enjoys brown sugar coral calcium too, particularly when sampled from the lips of a resisting doctor.

6\. Akari never laughs. But his sincere, unguarded smile is like the sunrise.

7\. Low along the researcher's side, there's a swath of skin that's incredibly ticklish. Hirato guards this secret with his life.

8\. The brunet often visits Research Tower. He looms over Akari's shoulder, frustrating the man to no end. This sends the nurses into fits of giggles, likely because they find a prickly doctor rather adorable.

9\. Akari loathes it when Hirato visits Research Tower. It reduces his staff to schoolgirl hysterics, likely because they find the commander's charming smile and bedroom eyes irresistibly attractive.

10\. Both are mistaken, of course. Thoughts of the two men in a range of compromising positions are what truly set the nurses' hearts aflutter.

11\. Hirato never cries. But he might if ever he discovers himself at fault for Akari's death.

12\. The blond hates candy. He doesn't know why; he just does. It has nothing to do with the small mountain of chocolates he finds addressed to his lover every Valentine's Day.

13\. Neither man believes in the gods; they place faith in one another.

14\. Tsukumo is Akari's favorite member of Airship Two, partly because of her mature disposition, and partly because he perceives an affinity in the way she gazes at Hirato.

15\. The captain regularly entertains fantasies of microwaving Hearty. He's not cruel, though, just thorough.

16\. On each anniversary he shares with Akari, Hirato buys Tsukitachi an obscenely expensive bottle of scotch. A lifetime supply would not convey the depth of his gratitude.

17\. Contrary to the brunet's opinion, the doctor is not afraid of needles. He is, however, understandably wary of protozoan idiots likely to induce air embolism.

18\. Akari's learned a few tricks. Memories of the time he substituted his paramour's coffee with soy sauce always curl the edges of his mouth (but only slightly).

19\. On rare nights when the physician sleeps, he has fitful dreams. He never recalls them upon waking, but his bedmate remembers every startled twitch and shuddered inhale.

20\. Circus stole Hirato's past, it's true. But in the searingly beautiful and brilliant lecturer he met at Kuronomei, they unwittingly gifted him a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what's your favorite?


	26. Keepsakes

It's always well past midnight when Hirato and Akari return from Tsukitachi's. Generally, they're careful to tread lightly so they don't wake any of the second ship's slumbering occupants. If Hirato's feeling playful, these efforts fail spectacularly and sheep must usher them to the captain's quarters before any crew are jarred out of their dreams by Akari's hissed rebukes. Some nights, the researcher is practically carried home by a supremely amused and frustratingly sober brunet. Whether by will or by necessity, the two fall immediately into bed on such occasions, exhausted from an overabundance of drink and sociality.

Tonight, however, tension clings to them, thick like mephitis and as suffocating too.

Akari steps out of his shoes and pads across the darkened living room, eventually coming to rest before Airship Two's sparkling floor-to-ceiling windows. He silently admires the view from aloft while awaiting his inquisitor. Mirrored glass feels smooth and refreshingly cool under his palm. Small, steamy halos form around his fingertips as he stares at velvety sky dotted with faraway foxfires. _It's so peaceful up_ _here_ , he thinks, _nothing like below_. This idle contemplation is broken by the subtle pressure of Hirato's hands bracketing his hips.

"You've always been captivated by heights, haven't you?" the pilot inquires, inching his arms around Akari more securely.

He leans back into the embrace—a conditioned response to the other's reassuring warmth and metronymic heartbeat. Akari wonders briefly if Hirato's show of affection is meant to disarm him before the interrogation begins in earnest. Even so, it's of no consequence. He'd relish their proximity regardless of its precipitating motivations. _My, how things have changed_ , he muses, recalling the days when he craved nothing but distance. "Those tethered often long to fly," he finally replies.

"Do you always feel so trapped, Akari?" Sometimes, the commander can be incredibly sincere. It's rare, to be sure, but each instance is exquisite for that very fact.

"Not with you."

Unsurprisingly, Hirato doesn't melt like others might, nor does he acknowledge the sentiment lingering beyond the assertion. He's focused on a singular order of business. "And before me? With him?"

 _Ah, so we arrive at last._ Akari is grateful for directness; he lacks the wherewithal to play games. Not now. Not with stakes this high—stakes inclusive of vulnerabilities and uncertainties and all manner of dangerous and unfamiliar risks. Peach orbs appraise their hazy, phantom-like reflections in the glass. Hirato's expression is soft and attentive, but his grip is forceful, as though he's wrapped around the doctor's insubstantial doppelgänger rather than the man himself. "I certainly believed as much at the time. In the beginning, that is. Kirei was exceedingly charismatic, magnetic even," he confesses, addressing the shades in front of him. "He possessed a mind like quicksilver and a wit to rival it. It was an intoxicating combination, as you can imagine." A thoughtful gaze flickers to the scenery beyond and Akari continues. "I was naïve and gullible, incapable of discerning genuine emotion from superficial infatuation."

"Was he your..."

"First love or first lover?" He sighs tiredly. "Do you really need to ask?"

"No." Hirato's head rests against the back of his own, steady exhale ghosting across the exposed skin of his neck. It's astonishing how the man so easily puts him off his guard. Akari had conceived of this conversation in its full range of iterations on the way home, but he never imagined a subdued captain treating him so reverently—as if Hirato's the one owing an explanation and Akari's the one who could hurt. "What happened?"

"Many things. Awful things, mostly. In short, I couldn't maintain his interest as effortlessly as he monopolized mine."

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not," Akari scoffs.

"You mistake my meaning," Hirato corrects, nudging an ear. "It's my gain, true, but I _am_ sorry."

The brunet need not explain further. Akari apprehends what's unsaid: _I'm sorry he hurt you._ And because it's Hirato: _I'll rip him apart._ In that suspended moment, he has no doubt of Hirato's readiness to wage war against mere _memories_ for his sake. Perhaps he ought to feel indignant or at least alarmed by such firm claims of ownership, but he can't bring himself to protest in the slightest. If anything, he's relieved his self-assured bastard of a mate isn't given to insecurity. "Don't be sorry. If not for him, I'd never have discovered my preference for amoebic fools."

Hirato laughs quietly and settles a palm atop Akari's, interlacing their fingers against the window. "Well, we do have our charms."

"Anyway, what's this about? You've had your share of lovers. A shamefully long list of them, if I recall. A veritable harem, in fact."

"Are you jealous, doctor? It's cute, but misplaced I'm afraid. This isn't about conquest or possession." Gentle teeth worry a patch of skin just below Akari's ear, but the distractive strategy is ineffectual. The researcher's incarnadine irises narrow in disbelief. Hirato, though, is entirely too preoccupied with marking his lover to notice. Still, he registers the wordless charge levied against him and chuckles. Apparently, even amoebic fools can have impressive perceptive faculties from time to time. "Well, not _only_ possession."

"No? Then what?"

"You can be staggeringly obtuse for a genius." Elegant fingers slip through Akari's tie knot, loosening it in one graceful movement before the same hands alight upon his buttons. "My price is much higher than this Kirei's, you know. I'll never be satisfied with having you." The captain interrupts his disrobing to lean forward and steal a kiss. It's unlike any they've shared—reserved, almost hesitating, and perhaps too tame. But it suits the mood, and remarkably, it suits Hirato as he murmurs against Akari's lips. "I aim to keep you."

Several long minutes are filled solely with the rustle of fabric as the blond's clothes are stripped off with extraordinary care. The other's touch is slowly scattering his wits. Before they're rent completely asunder, he manages to whisper a fervent plea: "Take me then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretentious author's NB, part II: It's true that in my head!canon Hirato is the insanely possessive type. Yet he doesn't strike me as the insecure and jealous type. Or if he is, it's a fleeting feeling that's gone in a few seconds. He'd never truly be jealous of Akari's ex-lover. Hirato's not worried about someone stealing Akari from him. He just doesn't like to share, not even with phantasms from the doctor's past. He said it himself in this chapter: He wants to keep Akari—all of him, including his history and whatever emotions and/or secrets lie buried therein.
> 
> Consider the gravity, then, of what Akari's offering when he says, "Take me." Particularly since we know Hirato is incapable of reciprocating.
> 
> I generally don't like to spoon feed my readership, but this chapter's themes seemed less obvious to me on second go-around. I wanted to keep some of the intentional ambiguity of the words they use yet still get my larger point across. I couldn't think of a way to be clearer without losing the polyvalence of the dialogue. Anyway, I hope I've clarified any confusion with this note. More importantly, I hope you like this chapter. ;)


	27. Innovations

It's uncommonly late or unconscionably early—even by Akari's standards. Insomniac he may be, but even he can't stifle a yawn as the first tendrils of nectarine light break through tiny laboratory windows.

He's exhausted. Hirato was particularly gamesome last night. He rarely complains about the other man's… libidinal generosity, but something about leaving a lightly dozing captain in a fall of rumpled sheets sends a trill of jealousy through his veins. If only scientists were afforded the same luxuries as feckless airship commanders whose only utility is the aesthetic sort.

He's being unfair, he knows. It's just that he's incapable of marshalling very much give-a-damn at present, especially since Hirato is squarely to blame for his current predicament.

Crystalline eyes appraise Hearty's shaved skin in a darkened lab. The lights are turned off; he'd rather not have any curious Tower personnel discover the nature of this covert project. He squints and reaches for coffee without shifting attention. The rabbit-like creature is fast asleep. Akari's mouth curls slightly as he watches his pet twitch in its slumber. Hearty is adorable when he's not demonstrating affection with claws and teeth. _As is Hirato_ , the blond realizes. And now he really has to stifle a grin.

He applies experimental ointment to the animal's side, feeling a bit on edge. _Please let this work_ , he thinks desperately. _Please._ Promises are offered to non-existent gods: He'll refrain from firing anyone today if he should succeed.

Genius researchers don't titter in victory; they leave that to puerile red-haired idiots. Even so, the temptation to whoop in elation is almost overwhelming. Almost. Instead, Akari re-inspects Hearty's color, confirms (again) that the bruises he suffered from a subordinate's mishandling are no more, and decides that the furball deserves food more appetizing than flavorless pellets.

That night, he's ambushed by his insatiable lover. Hirato skillfully makes short work of his clothes while attempting idle conversation. Akari's long suspected this is the captain's version of "How was your day, dear?"

"How was work, doctor?" It's a rumbling purr.

 _Suspicions confirmed._ Akari smiles. "Extremely productive." He then awaits the inevitable.

"Wait," Hirato stops his ministrations and reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, peering at exposed porcelain flesh under dim light. "What did you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I _marked_ you last night." He leans in to nuzzle the sensitive skin at the corner of the physician's jaw. "Here." Soft lips settle behind his ear. "Here." Those lips harden as they suck at the base of Akari's neck. "And here." Hirato pulls away, violet irises clouded in confusion.

"Yes you did. Very visibly so, and that is precisely the problem."

"They're gone."

"Don't sound like a disappointed caveman," Akari scolds. "You're incapable of following simple instructions, so I resolved matters myself."

No further words are exchanged, yet the brunet's proclivity to mark his bedmate hasn't diminished one whit. If anything, he's more enthusiastic.

"I told you I've developed an ointment that dissolves bruises. These efforts are futile."

Teeth scrape along the blond's collarbone, sending his fingers scrabbling down the other's muscular back. "Hmmm," Hirato's lilt is all too telling. "Exactly _how much_ of this wonder drug have you developed, doctor?"

Before Akari can curse the oversight, his tongue is rendered useless.


	28. Remedies

Akari's doing it again. Mission debriefing be damned, all Hirato's plum-hued eyes can see is the thoughtful tapping of the doctor's pen against pale lips. The blond moves it away occasionally, twirling it around nimble fingers before jotting down a few hurried notes. Ever since Circus' Second Captain finally experienced the dexterousness of those hands personally, Round Table has been a slow torture. Every. Single. Time.

Typically, he's sufficiently focused to manage a modicum of deference toward his invariably tiresome superiors. He's the very picture of dutiful, after all. Tonight, however, his concentration seems in short supply. Actually, everything is… well… off. Not only is his attentiveness waning, but so too is his energy. He's spent, and unusually so. A restless hand rubs the back of his neck where a stubborn ache has settled upon his return from Mariyama Province. Perhaps his bedmate might be persuaded to put those expert fingers to good use later. The very image makes him impatient for their dismissal. It's enough that the generally frigid room is stifling this evening; when Akari moistens his lips, however, something snaps. Hirato can practically feel that tongue licking fire along his skin, searing a path from neck to navel and downward from there. Fever builds beneath his clothes, its incandescence rushing from the small of his back to his fingertips and further clouding his judgment. His palms sweat under cotton gloves, prompting their hasty removal. This small action draws Akari's gaze.

 _Oh, is that a challenge?_ In a moderately addled state, he doesn't surmise that his ever-observant partner's look is one of concern, not solicitation.

Shifting closer, he rests an elbow on the table, chin in hand, stare fixed unwaveringly on his target's clever mouth. The researcher is made instantly uncomfortable at the increased scrutiny, but he continues his report sans interruption. It's adorable, Hirato thinks, that Akari initiates these little games of seduction only to retreat on account of bashfulness. _So very cute. And so irresistible._

Irresistible—like the way untidy strawberry blond hair keeps falling into his eyes. He must have rushed out the door this morning. Hirato has always enjoyed seeing the SSS-ranked official in a state of disarray, particularly when said state is achieved through his own schemes. But now, a troubling notion surfaces, tugging the corners of his lips into a tight line. What if the others find him enticing like this too? Keen eyes sweep the room, and while he cannot discern if his holographic interrogators are leveling greedy glances at his Akari, he does detect a hint of lecherousness in the first captain's bronze stare.

Were he in fuller control of his cognitive faculties, he'd apprehend that Tsukitachi looks far more bemused than covetous.

Without thinking (or perhaps because he was thinking too intently), he reaches forth to groom the offending strand. Akari stiffens at the contact and slaps him away so forcefully that echoes resound in the largely empty chamber. Adorable. Simply adorable, Hirato concludes, admiring the other's perseverance. Akari continues speaking without missing a beat, clearly inured to his paramour's more infuriating proclivities.

So too is the rest of Round Table. Apparently, they're determined to pretend that the second commander is not at all uncharacteristically effusive. This is expected, naturally. Tokitatsu excepted, Circus' administrators are far too prudish to acknowledge such things as playfulness or frivolity. They care only for results, and while Hirato produces exceptional ones, his more bothersome tendencies go largely un-interrogated. Why else would they give such an insufferable bastard command of an airship?

Unsatisfied by proximity alone, he leans to whisper. "You're so alluring when you're working. I'm a hair's breadth from shoving you against this table and fu—"

"As you can see, Bizante-sama, there's no need for drastic measures." Akari's now-raised voice drowns out a round of Hirato's delighted chuckles. Above, Tokitatsu convulses in silent laughter, no doubt having a shrewd idea of what his incorrigible sibling has just murmured to the agitated blond.

Akari is livid; the chill that settles around him indicates thus. His fingernails scratch against the table, tiny tremors betraying the considerable effort he's exerting just to maintain his composure. But he's also blushing furiously, compelling Hirato to trace the burgeoning flush of color staining porcelain cheeks. So refined, even when you're enraged. Light-colored brows knit together, but apart from that he's ostensibly unmoved. In truth, he's very much moved, the brunet guesses, but he'll subsume wrath for duty's sake.

Opposite, Tsukitachi's bewilderment causes his own eyebrows to nearly disappear under his hat. He types out a hurried message to his colleague. _[What the hell is wrong with you? Are you drunk?]_

Hirato essays a witty quip in response to the insinuation, but his mind is a nebulous mass of incessant humming occasionally punctuated by the deep rumble of Akari's voice. Neon green lights fade in and out of his vision, making the executives look like misshapen auras floating in a nighttime sky. He shakes his head to dispel the murkiness, but it's of no avail. Thus, he offers the most astute retort he can contrive. _[Not drunk.]_

_[Then stop. It's not funny when Akari-chan gets this upset.]_

_[But he's so sexy when he's angry.]_

_[I know, but don't you think you've teased enough?]_

Indigo irises alight upon his companion, who is indeed furtively attempting to wriggle out of his vice-like grasp. Hirato shifts his glare from a resisting bedmate to a watchful Tsukitachi whose demeanor is far too appetent for innocence. And then something incredibly urgent occurs to him: _[What do you mean you know he's sexy?]_

Having received the accusatory message, the first commander trades worried glances with Akari. Hirato's fingers curl around his cane in response to the exchange. His best friend making eyes at his lover? How dare he? That Tsukitachi isn't given to disloyalty never registers. He only feels quiet rage creeping through his limbs.

"The organisms recovered by the Second Ship in Mariyama Province display unbelievable resistance to Var—" the doctor is cut off as he's veritably attacked by Hirato, who's determined that the best way to discourage Tsuckitachi's (non-existent) advances is to plainly mark his territory.

Several things happen in succession immediately afterwards. Akari—thoroughly unprepared for an assault on his person—topples off his chair, taking a too-eager second captain with him. Tsukitachi shoots to his feet, concern etched in every line of his face. Tokitatsu stops laughing abruptly, intuiting that the situation has gone horribly awry, and other members of Round Table gasp in shock, finally reacting to their subordinate's peculiar behavior.

Akari pushes against Hirato's chest and struggles to escape. "Get off me, you brute!" But when their eyes meet, he swallows any further invective. Instead, alert nectarines go wide with panic. The next thing Hirato notes are quick, skilled hands pulling his tie loose and working at his buttons.

He smirks in victory and nuzzles his prey, inhaling the heady mix of tea, ginger, and antiseptic that's been driving him mad with longing for years. "That's more like it, doctor."

"Shut up." The tone is cold, clinical. Icy fingers pause at the base of Hirato's throat while Akari studies his wristwatch. He mutters a differential checklist under his breath and pointedly disregards the brunet's roving hands. "Pulse elevated. Very high fever. Pupils dilated. Disorientation. Sluggishness. Delirium."

Delirium? "Who are you calling delirious, hmm?" the captain scoffs, nipping at a tense jaw. "You'll be delirious when I'm done with you."

"I said shut up," Akari drones, impervious to the rasp of tongue against his neck. "And stop that." Hirato frowns; it's unlike the other man to be so unresponsive to his touch.

In the meantime, Tsukitachi has circled the table. "Akari-chan, are you okay?" He surveys the scene with anything but amusement, apprehension evident in the taughtness of his spine. Even the holograms stand as though they might make sense of the goings-on by so doing.

"Yes, but Hirato isn't." Maybe what the commander's unconscious required was outside confirmation, or perhaps it's that he trusts his partner absolutely; in either case, he acquiesces to the diagnosis with minimal fuss, acknowledging in a detached way how truly ill he must be. Akari wouldn't look like that otherwise. He conducts a quick bodily inventory and corroborates. _No, I'm not okay. Something is really wrong._ Dizziness threatens to overwhelm and once more his wits are taken hostage by a dulling haze. Before he's hauled up by Tsukitachi, a cautious palm cups his cheek. Later, this modest show of Akari's affection is the only sensation he'll recall with any clarity.

"What's happening?" Anxiety manifests in Tokitatsu's tenor.

"Infection. It's serious. Given he's just returned from Mariyama, it's likely a strain of bacterial meningitis." Akari rights himself and gathers his things.

"Will he be okay?"

The ensuing conversation comes to Hirato in fragments while he rests limply against his colleague. He catches terse reassurances that all will be well if they leave for Research Tower immediately. Tokitatsu says something about meeting there. Finally—and he hears this distinctly, because he's as stunned as all present parties—Bizante's authoritative baritone emerges from the chaos. "Akari, send Hirato to Research Tower with Tsukitachi and finish your report."

"I will do no such thing. This is an emergency. If you disapprove, then by all means have me replaced," Akari growls in indignation, a thinly-veiled warning undergirding his words.

Before losing consciousness, Hirato reaffirms his earlier assessment: Akari is fucking mesmerizing when incensed.


	29. Insights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read this if you haven't read the previous chapter ('Remedies').

Hirato's eyes creak open to blinding effulgence. Early morning light suffuses the room in a dazzling haze, reflecting off Research Tower's institutional white walls and obscuring his vision. He smothers a groan and allows his retinas to acclimate.

Shifting fabric captures his attention. Immediately beside the hospital bed, Akari stirs. The blond is dozing in what appears to be a horribly uncomfortable armchair, lab coat draped over crossed arms, lithe legs resting atop the bedrail. It's enough to make Hirato reconsider his bad opinion of over-bright sunlight. Directly under the window, Akari's pale, alabaster skin is positively luminescent and his mop of pinkish hair takes on an unearthly radiance. He's surreally beautiful like this, the captain thinks. If not for the frown contorting his mouth, he'd look like an illusion, like he'd been conjured into existence by sheer fervor of Hirato's desire.

 _Exquisite._ A smirk. _And all mine._

Before he can stop himself, he reaches forth in attempt to smooth the crease that's formed between Akari's brows. As if attuned to his lover's every movement, the researcher's eyes snap to his face before tracing a path to his outstretched hand. "You've developed an irritating habit of touching me when inappropriate," he says dryly.

Hirato's leer turns dangerous. "Ah, there's your mistake. You assume I'd ever want to touch you in an _appropriate_ manner."

"Shameless, even when hospitalized," Akari retorts swiftly. "One would think a soldier would be more attuned to his environment."

"Is that a threat? It's ineffectual, I'm afraid. I would relish being at your mercy, my dear doctor."

Akari scowls. Hirato essays a chuckle, but he's racked by a biting sting in his throat. He's parched, tongue scraping against the roof of his mouth like sandpaper. The physician is quick to his feet. He pours water into a glass and holds it before the brunet, the barest hint of a grin twisting his lips. It's the sort of playfulness only Hirato would notice, and he relishes that too—that his paramour holds so much in reserve, away from the world's prying eyes.

"I think I can manage a drink of water." He plucks the cup from Akari's fingers and takes a grateful sip.

"Really? Given your complete lack of self-control last night, I question your ability to manage _anything_ with much success."

Hirato's relief is short-lived; he nearly chokes at the words. A muddle of incoherent memories race through his psyche as he makes a futile attempt to piece together the events of the previous evening. He remembers but slivers of the whole; it's akin to producing blueprints from rubble. Nevertheless, one sensation slices through the murky haze, clean and sharp—a careful hand cupping his cheek, thumb brushing across his lips. "What happened?" he asks, feeling a bit unsettled by the lacuna in his memory.

"How much do you recall?" Akari inquires, keen gaze scanning the prone man as he retrieves the empty cup.

"Very little. I remember being at Round Table for a debriefing…" The brunet shakes his head, hoping to jar loose anything of help. "And you. Your panic." He searches Akari's inscrutable expression in hopes of gleaning any additional information. "I also remember thinking how cute you are when you're all prickly and imperious."

Akari tries to hide it, but it's there—the tiniest sparkle of amusement dancing in ruby orbs. "So you don't recall telling me that you'd like to fuck me against the table?"

Hirato laughs. "You really ought to leave the teasing to me, Akari. It's so… _unnatural_ when you do it."

A perfectly-arched strawberry blond brow is the only response he's afforded.

It dawns on him that perhaps he is capable of crudeness given the right circumstances. "No," he breathes, more in bemused observation than shame or remorse. If he _could_ feel something resembling embarrassment, he might have at that moment. Instead, staggering disappointment is all he can manage. _This means no sex for a week._ Violet eyes dart again to the doctor's pursed lips. _No, it'll be two weeks. At least._

"Yes," Akari confirms. "While I was giving a report, no less."

He hesitates for effect. "Are you waiting for me to apologize?"

The blond settles himself on the bed, intense stare boring into Hirato. "Yes."

 _You'll be waiting for a while._ He'll never weary of playing such games, he realizes, shrugging dismissively and patently _not_ apologizing. "In my defense, I was just being honest. I've always wanted to take you during Round Table."

"Am I supposed to be appeased by that?"

"No... but maybe a little turned on."

Akari sighs in half-exasperation, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "What am I going to do with this perverted lout?" he mutters under his breath. A hand flies over Hirato's open mouth before more boorishness can ensue. "It was rhetorical. Don't answer."

"Should I demonstrate instead?" He slips his hand around a fine wrist and kisses the physician's fingertips. They're cool and ungloved; Akari never covers his hands when the captain is under his care. Hirato suspects that this little habit has gone unnoticed by the doctor himself. He has no intention of pointing it out, either. Hospitalization is a complete waste of his very valuable time, but he's less inclined to walk out if it's his partner's gentle touch ghosting along his skin.

That erstwhile gentle touch turns forceful, prompting the younger man to wince. _Ah, I spoke too soon._ Fingers curl into either side of Hirato's chin, securing his attention. Akari leans in, eyes narrowed and menace in his voice. "You remarkable idiot. Somehow you managed to contract a rare infection in less than eight hours. Under normal circumstances, I'd congratulate any organism that incapacitates your facility for thought and speech, but you're insufferable when delirious."

Hirato can't work his jaw, not with long, powerful fingers gripping so tightly. He makes a placating gesture with his hands.

Akari is unimpressed. "Shut up." If he could, the brunet would point out that he isn't, in point of fact, speaking. But all his thought processes cease when sharp teeth bite his earlobe, sending anticipation zipping up his spine. "If you _ever_ traipse off to a tropical bacterial paradise without proper inoculation again, I will invent new ways to break you."

It's not the threat that undoes him. Akari would never hurt him; they both know that. It's the knowledge that he'd thoroughly enjoy whatever was contrived. His hand inches up the other's thigh, sliding scandalously higher and higher. This sort of suggestive petting has become a conditioned response. The commander is largely unaware he's doing it. Akari, however, cants his head and slowly removes the roving appendage from his person. Hirato understands now: this is his punishment for being so careless about his own health. His bedmate can be spectacularly cruel—like at present, demonstrating the authoritativeness that he knows drives Hirato wild with thirst and then refusing to satiate him. _How unfair. The least he could do is undress._

"Am I interrupting?" Tokitatsu calls from the doorway. He's terribly amused at finding his brother on the receiving end of teasing for once.

Doctor and patient answer simultaneously.

"Yes," Hirato barks, clearly hoping to turn the situation to his advantage.

"No." On the other hand, Akari is rather accomodating. "It's time for his medicine anyway." Coral eyes glint maliciously as he releases the bed-ridden man. He walks out with no further comment.

The older man waits until the researcher's footfall is well out of earshot before addressing Hirato. "You're a lucky, undeserving bastard, you know that?"

"So I'm told. How did you get in here?" he inquires, surprised that a Rank One officer's room is so easily breached. He doesn't mind having his brother around _occasionally_ , but Tokitatsu's penchant for mischief is outstripped solely by his own. The bureaucrat may be genuinely concerned, but that won't deter him from making trouble.

"Akari gave me the code so I could visit at will."

Hirato huffs in defeat. "Unsurprising. He's disciplining me for coming home in such a state."

"Can you blame him? You had us all extremely worried." Tokitatsu's affect hardens momentarily, a shadow of unease flitting across his features before they're schooled into perfect impassivity. Evidently, he _was_ extremely worried. "How much do you remember?"

"Just fragments, honestly."

The elder nods. "I guessed as much. So you don't remember Akari threatening to resign so he could accompany you here?"

"He did _what_?" Hirato has rarely felt it, but he recognizes the knotty, twisting sensation in his chest as guilt. His brilliant workaholic fool of a partner was prepared to give up his position, his life's work, simply to be at his bedside. He's been acquainted with Akari's selflessness for years, of course. Even so, the news is staggering.

"Did you think the director of the nation's top research facility had nothing better to do than administer antibiotics?" Tokitatsu adjusts his glasses. "Any Tower personnel could have treated you after Akari made the diagnosis."

"What's your point?" The words are harsher than intended; Hirato's too preoccupied by the gnawing in his stomach to participate fully in the usual pantomime.

A consoling hand rests on his shoulder and Tokitatsu's eyes soften considerably. "Don't be a difficult patient, hmm? Not this time, anyway." The administrator whirls on his heel and heads for the door. Before he crosses the threshold, he glances once more at his younger sibling. "I'm glad you're okay."

An hour passes before Akari returns. In the interim, Hirato has bitten back nearly two dozen impulses to seek escape. The amount of work that awaits him is ungodly. Furthermore, each minute spent out of commission is opportunity for another Varuga-related incident to threaten his crew. Even if he must be quarantined to his quarters on account of contagion, he would accomplish more than he is currently. He loathes this—the feelings of helplessness attendant to serious illnesses. Yet he's determined to behave; he owes it to Akari. _Only this once. Next time, all bets are off._

"Did Tokitatsu say something?" the blond asks, brows furrowed while he injects various fluids into Hirato's IV. "You're awfully quiet."

"Hmm?" He looks at his lover—actually _looks_ at him. Akari's hair is a tousled mess, and Hirato knows instinctively that he must have been roused by an emergency yesterday morning. _He was probably exhausted before I returned from Mariyama._ Tired bags have formed under still-alert eyes. Even the square of his shoulders is imbued with a slight languor. Spent he may be, but the physician stands too stiffly, as though his back aches miserably. _Sleeping in an armchair can't be pleasant._ Finally, the captain takes in the disquiet clouding those hypnotic irises. Akari isn't the effusive sort; it's one of the myriad reasons they're so well-suited to one another. Not demonstrating sentiment, though, is a far cry from being unfeeling. Hirato considers how gorgeous the other man looked under the early morning light. Flawless. Ethereal, almost. Nevertheless, he finds he prefers Akari like this, not in spite of his haggard appearance, but _because_ of it.

The object of his contemplation sits beside him, graceful fingers stretching forth to sweep aside untidy ebony hair. Hirato doesn't resist. He doesn't even pretend the gesture is unwelcome. Docility has never come easily, but he endeavors it for the other man's sake. "Akari?" he calls softly.

"What is it?"

"Am I contagious?"

"Very," Akari answers. "That's why I took the liberty of vaccinating everyone who'll be around you for the next few days. I may share your bed, Hirato, but even I have my limits."

"Good." Hirato's mouth curves in impish delight. He sits up and moves closer, crossing the distance inch by agonizing inch, giving Akari plenty of opportunity to resist. Finally, he rests his lips against the blond's, content with intimacy and warmth alone. There's no salaciousness, no intent. It's a kiss speaking what his voice cannot articulate, but he's sure the meaning is being read with consummate precision.

Akari pulls away after several moments, gently pushing him against the pillows until he's reclining again. His smile is indulgent at first, and then it grows sickle-sharp (although the affection obtains). "Nice try. But you're still not getting any for a month."

"Is that a challenge, doctor? I accept."


	30. Tricks and Treats

Blood-stained lips curve sensuously around plastic fangs as Hirato makes his way towards Akari's office. He's just absconded early from one of Tsukitachi's famous Halloween parties. These annual affairs aren't wholly ennuyeux, but without his lover present, they certainly lack an element of diversion. Try as he might, however, he can never convince the blond to escort. Tsukitachi is a man whose complete disregard for convention does not extend to his own soirees, apparently; he requires guests to arrive in costume. Naturally, this means that the good doctor declines his invitation every year.

Hirato chuckles softly as he imagines Akari in a number of tawdry Halloween getups. _Cowboy, police officer, mummy, ghost—_ he considers the usual suspects before dismissing each one. His paramour is far too refined for the typical fare. One could not expect Akari to be anyone other than Akari. Of course, mad scientist isn't much of a leap for the researcher, but persuading the man to don a costume would require the sort of miraculous efficacy that allows one to walk on water, and regrettably, Jesus Christ had not been in attendance tonight.

Akari can be unforgivably staid at times. Still, Hirato wouldn't have him any other way.

The nurses' covetous eyes rove over him as he stalks down Research Tower's unusually calm corridors, taking in his form-fitting tuxedo and billowing cape. Against pale skin and dark hair, his satin cravat positively glows scarlet. Doubtless he makes for a fetching vampire. He hastens his pace, knowing how agitated Akari will be if he should distract the physician's staff for any considerable length of time.

The commander turns the knob to the director's quarters without knocking; they've been involved long enough to dispense with ceremony.

"I've been expecting you." A deep rumble sounds from somewhere within. It's muffled by the sound of rushing water. "Give me a minute to wash up; I've just come from surgery."

There's a moment, a brief one, where the captain imagines joining his lover in the shower. Long fingers reach for his tie knot before he's interrupted by Akari's voice. "And no, that wasn't an invitation."

"You're such a prude," he calls in half jest as he settles on the sofa and adopts his most seductive demeanor. _No matter_ , Hirato thinks mischievously, _if I can't take you in the shower right now, I'll do so after I make a proper mess of you._ Circus' Second Commander is unaccustomed to losing his quarry, after all.

The water turns off. "Is that a complaint?" Akari's head appears around the door frame, mouth turned down in a scowl and wet hair falling into his face. Ruby eyes narrow in appraisal. "It is, isn't it?"

"Not in the slightest." It's a lie, and both know it. A sudden chill falls between them, causing the brunet to clear his throat uncomfortably.

"Well, we can't all be lecherous, blood-sucking fiends," Akari huffs, the barest hint of a growl betraying the fact that he is indeed bruised by the unarticulated accusation Hirato failed at concealing sufficiently. The doctor disappears beyond the threshold again, leaving a deflated airship captain to search frantically for a way of salvaging their evening. "Nevertheless, I suppose I must be a difficult bedmate—no spontaneity, no frivolity, all compartmentalizing and planning and whatnot…" he trails off resignedly.

Hirato wants to kick himself for being so loose-lipped. It's true that his companion can be frustratingly unyielding and rather too grave for his own good, but never once has the captain been bored with their physical relationship. _Why did I say that? How careless._ "Akari," he sighs the sigh of the perpetually long-suffering, "It's not like that."

"There's no need to equivocate." The words are terse, icy. "You know I prefer the brutal truth."

The brunet prepares himself for the somber conversation that will assuredly ensue. Honestly, he has no inkling what's gotten into his damnably confounding partner. It's so very unlike Akari to be petulant over trivialities. Worry begins to creep along his veins, prompting him to mentally enumerate everything he's done in the past few days to incur the other's disappointment. _There must be_ something _; he doesn't act like this without provocation._

A brooding violet gaze remains fixed on the floor when finally Akari steps into the living room, wearing his lab coat and stethoscope—and nothing else. "Hirato," he lilts, commanding attention, "Trick or treat?"

Hirato chokes, sputtering a series of nonsensical utterances before regaining himself.

"I'd have accompanied you to Tsukitachi's, but as you can see, my costume was inappro—" and that's all the naughty doctor manages before his blood-sucking fiend of a lover attacks, gloved hands roaming over still-flushed skin and careful fangs trailing along the seam of his lips.


	31. Gifts

The day's gone from bad to goddamn unsalvageable, and it's not even noon.

Akari glances at his wristwatch, thin blond brow quivering in irritation. He's been avoiding any and all humans since sunrise, preferring to keep company with lab animals and microorganisms. The futility of these efforts is made abundantly clear when he nearly trips over a gigantic package that's been deposited on his office floor.

_Yogi._

The misshapen lavender bow and Nyanperona wrapping paper are the handiwork of none other than Hirato's puerile, doe-eyed second-in-command. He sighs heavily and makes mental note to ensure that the young man's next checkup is the stuff of nightmares. A grimace twists the doctor's lips as he makes for the coffee maker, long legs stepping agilely over the travesty of a birthday present.

Akari abhors birthdays. It's only natural, he supposes. His professional life is dedicated to arresting the ravages of time. A birthday celebration is therefore anathema to his physician's philosophy. Only primitive idiots would glorify coming closer to death.

More than anything, however, he hates his own birthday. It's not that he loathes growing older. Quite the opposite, in fact—the genius scientist relishes new knowledge gained by time's passage. Rather, he simply cannot endure Research Tower's stubborn insistence on commemorating the occasion of their director's birth. Every year, Akari hopes that increased anti-sociality will circumvent any such festivities. Every year, his employees meet this resistance with heightened enthusiasm.

Truly, birthdays are a menace.

He reaffirms this assessment as Tsukitachi waltzes through the door, announcing his presence with fistfuls of confetti thrown in the blond's general direction. Several pieces of tiny metallic paper land in Akari's coffee, prompting him to scowl at his interloper.

"Happy birthday!" the redhead shouts, adopting cheer best reserved for pet stores and sweet shops.

Akari groans in response. "Go away. I don't have time for you today. I have to organize data from the second ship's latest expedition."

Tsukitachi shakes his head and tuts dramatically. "No, no, no. No one works on their birthday," he declares, hands on his hips like an admonishing school teacher.

"Unfortunately, not all of us are afforded the same luxuries as feckless airship captains." Having fished the offending detritus from his beverage, Akari takes a grateful sip, letting its bitterness pool in his mouth before swallowing thankfully.

"You're so mean, Akari-chan." Still, Circus' First Commander is undeterred. He's too inured to his friend's standoffishness to take such utterances personally. "Anyway, speaking of captains, where's Hirato?"

"How the hell should I know?" Akari grumbles. "Protozoan intellectual processes are completely alien to me." He notes a sharp, lancing pain in his chest. Before he can guess at its origin, however, it disappears.

Tsukitachi sighs in mock frustration. "We planned your party weeks ago!" With that, the younger man herds the physician out of the office, practically dragging him along. "He'll just have to be late, then. I don't want the ice cream to melt."

They stop in front of the meeting room. Dread coils low in Akari's stomach as the doors swing open and he's assaulted with more confetti and streamers. Members of both airships and Executive Tower are in attendance. Tsukumo offers up a hand-made, albeit amateurish Hearty plushie while Nai watches nervously from afar. Clearly, the two crafted it together. Because he respects her (and _only_ her), he mutters a hurried thanks before moving on. Tokitatsu slips him an elegantly-wrapped rectangle box, doubtless containing an exorbitantly-priced fountain pen. The two are exchanging pleasantries when Tsukitachi sidles up and says, "I got you a puppy!" He titters and points excitedly to a sizeable holed box beside the small mountain of presents heaped precariously atop the conference table. Vermillion irises go wide with horror. "Just kidding, Akari-chan. It's an espresso machine! Hirato wanted one."

 _My day is going to be so very long_ , Akari thinks exhaustedly. _And I still have that data to collate._

Thus, the party commences in earnest.

It's quite late before Akari is able to extricate himself. There were three different cakes (including a particularly delicious one baked by Jiki). There was ice cream and chocolate enough to drive a cadre dentists to suicide. There were songs sung off-key, mildly-intoxicated laughter (on the part of Tsukitachi and Tokitatsu), and a day of well-earned frivolity. In spite of himself, Akari had a marginally pleasant evening.

The only thing missing was Hirato.

His black-haired, shifty-eyed devil of a lover monopolizes his attention as he lumbers back to his office. It's unfair to expect Circus' Second Captain to be omnipresent, he knows, especially since Hirato's professional commitments rival his own. Nevertheless, something about having everyone else there made his partner's absence that much heavier. Akari feigned his typical ill-humor throughout the celebration, yes, and even managed to crack a genuine smile when no one was looking. Yet a dull ache settled in his bones and hadn't ebbed even in the midst of such exuberance.

He refuses to interrogate these feelings beyond acknowledging their irrationality, though. Instead, the spent researcher flops into his chair and switches on his computer. _I'll worry about Hirato later. Right now, I have work to do._ Immediately, a metallic chime sounds, indicating that he's received an email. It's from the subject of his recent thoughts:

_Forgive me for not coming to your birthday party. I was preparing your gift, which is attached to this message. -Hirato_

Akari opens the attachment and sputters in astonishment. While he was being waylaid by a drunken Tsukitachi, his lover had catalogued every shred of data that Airship Two collected. Rows of color-coded files materialize before him in perfect formation, each labeled according to the type of information contained therein. The overture amounts to _hours_ worth of effort.

"Oh, Hirato..." he whispers, the syllables of his paramour's name inflected by deep affection. Sometimes, his protozoan idiot can be incredibly thoughtful and romantic.

"You like it, then?" Hirato asks, emerging from the doctor's living quarters. The brunet strides forward and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest and rhinestone eyes glittering impishly. "It's difficult shopping for a man who has everything," he confesses. "In the end, I settled for gifts of an abstract variety."

"Time." Akari replies softly, still taken aback by the gesture.

"Well, you do seem in perpetual lack of it." Hirato's self-assured grin entices like never before.

"And?"

"And what?"

"You said _gifts_ , in the plural. What else do you have for me?" Akari asks, fingers twining around the captain's necktie in solicitation.

His bedmate's resultant leer is positively demonic. "Yes... your second gift." Before the researcher registers the movement, he feels the cool metal of a handcuff clicking securely around his wrist. A gloved hand curls under his chin. "It's whatever you want, Akari." Velvet lips press gently against the corner of his mouth. "However you want it," Hirato murmurs in a manner intimating that none of the doctor's directives will go unfulfilled tonight.

And Akari finds himself reconsidering his bad opinion of birthdays.


	32. Apologies

Akari looks sublime under the early morning rays, particularly when they filter through Airship Two's high windows. From aloft, the sunlight seems rarefied somehow—like it's unfiltered and ethereal, untouched by the world it suffuses. In terms of refinement, then, it is exceedingly well-suited to the surreally beautiful man who slumbers amongst the captain's rumpled sheets. Both the bedding and the blond are practically afire as the light hits them, and Hirato can't help but stare, the curve of a smirk twisting his lips.

The doctor is far more agreeable when dreaming, too. No grumbled rebukes, irritated jibes, or biting insults, although Hirato would be quite put out if Akari should refer to the distinctly amoebic intellect of another. He's claimed that epithet for himself, after all.

Akari stirs as though sensing his lover's thoughts, and when the sheets slip low on his waist, Hirato stifles a gasp. He knows he ought to be used to this by now, but he'll never grow accustomed to the sight. Bruises—myriad, blue-black blotches striking against pale skin—cover the sleeping man's back, some from the pressure of the commander's fingertips, some from the vehemence of his bite. They are resultant of pleasure-seeking of the highest order, no doubt, but such an impetus does not assuage Hirato's guilt.

He loathes marking his beloved with this sort of brutality. Unfortunately, Akari craves it—being pressed roughly into the mattress, being bent and bowed to Hirato's whims, being served bliss at the very edge of pain. The blond never climaxes as intensely as he does when he's being handled with violence—measured, never careless violence, to be sure, but violence nonetheless. On those nights, Hirato is far more exacting in his ministrations than on most occasions. One wrong move, one unrestrained push or a snip of teeth a touch too forceful, and the spider's thread between ecstasy and excruciation breaks.

He'd never forgive himself if that happened.

He scarcely forgives himself regardless. The only thing keeping him from sinking into a never-ending spiral of self-flagellation is the next morning's memory of Akari moaning the syllables of his name between haggard breaths.

Despite the other man's obvious permissiveness (or rather, his solicitation), Hirato wakes from each such romp believing that he must make amends. So when he sees the countless bruises scattered along his paramour's porcelain flesh, he sinks back into bed, violet eyes searching for a suitable place to start.

A small, purplish mark mars the base of Akari's spine where it dips into his hips. It's a thumbprint, left behind when Hirato splayed steadying fingers on the small of his back as his other hand yanked at bound wrists with vigor enough to effect robe burn. The brunet's smirk lengthens and he pulls the sheets lower, prompting the doctor to shiver unconsciously. He leans down and presses his mouth against the bruise, feather-light and barely making contact. Another spot—this one bluish in color—is several inches away. It betrays Hirato's proclivity to taste his lover even while acceding to fervent pleas for harder and faster. This time the captain's lips drag across the damaged skin, causing Akari to twitch. He brackets the blond's hips to keep him still.

Akari cracks an incarnadine eye, fixing the captain with a look of utter disdain. "You don't have to apologize every time, you know." His voice is rough from sleep, but it conveys a trace of impatience. "It's what I wanted."

Hirato ignores him, continuing to slant slow, soft kisses against all visible mementos of their tryst. Lovers learn from one another, and from his prickly physician, he's learned that even the most minute stimulation can prove too much if applied consistently. All one requires is a bit of patience. So, after nearly an hour of this meticulous attention, Akari is attempting futilely to arch into the touch, his body instinctively seeking friction. An amused rumble of laughter against a tense shoulder blade is enough to send desperate fingers scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.

"I wonder," Hirato says, nuzzling the other's nape and enjoying the hitched breath it earns him, "why you insist on being treated so crudely when a lighter touch is just as effective." As if to demonstrate, he licks the shell of Akari's ear, eliciting an involuntary shudder.

In the interim, the researcher has gone scarlet in either anger or frustration, likely both. "Goddamnit, Hirato!" he huffs, trying to sit up unsuccessfully. The brunet's muscular limbs have him pinned in place. It's a testament to Hirato's prowess that being trapped thusly isn't uncomfortable. In fact, Akari barely registers the loose grip circling his wrists. He's not fooled, though; escaping the commander's grasp is impossible.

Another bemused chuckle. "Is there a problem?"

"I'm not opposed to sex first thing in the morning," Akari growls, "but can we get on with it?"

"No." Gentle worrying essays a new bruise along the physician's neck as a searing tongue and hardly-there scrape of teeth drive the other man's desire to a fever pitch—that is, if the form struggling underneath Hirato is any indication. He lets up long enough to tease: "Fair is fair, doctor. It's my turn now."


	33. Niceties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guys, someone on AO3 told me they're going to plagiarize my work (like actually said, "I'm going to use your ideas in my fic"). In particular, they're stealing from chapter 25 of this series. I'm so angry, but there's nothing to be done. I thought briefly of cursing this individual out and then reconsidered. In lieu of that, I decided that I'd let Hirato vent my frustration. Thus, this Christmas ficlet was born.
> 
> Also, this might be crackish. I'm not sure anymore, honestly. At any rate, I wish you all happy holidays! Consider this your seasonal gift; I hope you like it.

Hirato is growing increasingly impatient by the second. It's unbecoming of him; he's known for demonstrating the sort of stoic poise that would shame Socrates himself, after all. Were it any other Christmas party, he'd take everything in stride. Being hosted by Karasuna Incorporated means that he must spend the better part of the evening in _his_ presence—Kirei Karasuna, former professor of molecular biology and current CEO of said company. The drug conglomerate is developing a medicinal cocktail to counteract the effects of Varuga blood. It's a promising treatment. As a result, Circus and Research Tower have been ordered to essay a partnership with Karasuna—hence tonight's indecently ostentatious soiree.

It's not novel; Hirato's been asked to play nice before. In fact, no one plays nicer. Effortless charisma, strikingly good looks, and a penchant for politesse make the commander a born charmer. Schmoozing with Akari's ex-lover, however, is absolutely out of the question, no matter how many wonder drugs the man invents. He therefore adopts a bearing better-suited to his fractious, intemperate paramour and watches from the periphery of the party. Amethyst eyes narrow in murderous malice as Kirei strides over to his doctor and leans in a little too close for casualness. _Touch him and I break your hand._

"You'll wake up in one of Akari-chan's labs if you keep staring at him like that." While he's entertaining fantasies of the admittedly destructive variety, Tsukitachi sidles up beside him.

"Like what?" Hirato asks coolly. Circus' First Captain always sees too much.

"Like he's your property."

 _He may not be property, but he is_ mine, Hirato thinks. Still, he knows better than to voice such sentiments. "I'm being watchful; I don't trust Karasuna."

The red-haired man laughs heartily at that, and then stops abruptly when his companion stalks off, drink in hand and spine taut with what Tsukitachi immediately recognizes as fury. Golden orbs follow the line of Hirato's path before widening in understanding: Kirei Karasuna has made the fatal mistake of wrapping his fingers around Akari's arm. Consigning the night's mission to failure, he saunters off towards the bar, eyeing a double scotch and a certain blue-haired goddess.

* * *

Hirato settles a gloved hand on the small of Akari's back for the briefest of instances, surreptitiously signifying his ownership. It's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it sort of gesture—characteristic of the captain's masterful subtlety. Kirei doesn't blink. Neither does Akari (although he does raise an inquisitive brow). "I don't believe we've met," he says, offering his hand. "I'm Hirato."

"I'm Kirei Karasuna," the businessman replies cordially. "It's a pleasure to meet you, mister... What did you say your name was again? I'm afraid my memory is overrun with chemical reactions and enzyme properties."

"Hi-ra-to. Captain of the Second Ship, National Defense Agency."

"A pilot, then. How _delightful_! I've just earned my pilot's license." Kirei flashes a toothy grin.

"Is that so? I'd love to meet you in the sky." Sarcasm drips from each syllable, and if Hirato ever doubted his beloved's occasional propensity for mischief, he finds himself terribly mistaken. The corners of the researcher's lips turn up in a wicked leer. Akari hurriedly takes a drink of his wine to hide the delight he's deriving from allowing his lover free rein.

"I've been trying to talk Akari here into getting one. He's quite fond of flying, if memory serves." Kirei slips a hand through his glossy blue-black locks—the hand Hirato has vowed to break. Vain though he may be, he is indeed attractive. One would expect no less; Akari has immaculate taste. If the Second Commander were the diffident sort, insecurity would overwhelm. Fortunate, then, that he is a self-assured bastard. _  
_

"Sensei."

"Excuse me?"

"Akari-sensei. SSS-ranked personnel ought to be addressed appropriately. And he doesn't need a pilot's license. I endeavor in all ways to keep his head in the clouds."

The doctor in question nearly chokes but remains otherwise silent. This, of course, is interpreted as tacit permission for Hirato to be on his worst behavior.

"I imagine you perform a number of odd jobs. I hear Circus is very demanding of its guard dogs."

"Kirei—" the blond finally cuts in, tone sharpened by warning.

Circus' watchdog chuckles in supreme amusement. "It's okay, Akari. It's the truth."

"And what is it that they've tasked you with tonight, _Captain_ Hirato?" the CEO asks, condescension evident.

The pilot's smirk turns sickle-sharp and chillingly malevolent. It's the kind of affect he reserves for soon-to-be-dispatched individuals. In that instant, all present parties are made inescapably aware of the fact that Hirato is a very dangerous man. "My mission tonight is the same as always—search out and destroy all threats to Circus' interests." Violet eyes dart to the physician at his side before leveling on Kirei. No one misses the meaning in this glance.

In the tense hush that follows, Akari clears his throat awkwardly. "I think it's time we left. It's late and I've an experimental surgery in the morning." He turns to Hirato. "Shall we?"

* * *

"You'll pay dearly for that little stunt," the doctor mutters as the two settle themselves in the back of their limousine. "Bizante-sama is going to crucify you."

Hirato is far too preoccupied with undoing his bowtie to attend to the bureaucratic nightmare he's created. "I don't know why; I was merely looking out for Circus' interests," he says distractedly.

"Meaning me?" Akari queries. "Like I'm some precious gem?"

The brunet chooses his next words with consummate precision: "You are exceedingly valuable, my dear doctor."

Suddenly, he registers warm weight in his lap and nimble fingers pulling his tie loose before working feverishly on his buttons. He's rendered nearly breathless by the assault, but he doesn't much mind, not when Akari's tongue seems intent on sampling every millimeter of skin within reach. It rasps against the commander's neck, licking fire in its wake. "I want to be clear," the blond murmurs, breath hot in Hirato's ear. "I abhor it when you channel your inner caveman." Insistent lips slant across his mouth while Akari slides roughly against him, eliciting a soft moan. Sometime in the last five minutes, he's been divested of tuxedo jacket and vest. He'd applaud his lover's prowess if he weren't so indisposed. "But sometimes you're so alluring that I want nothing more than to fuck you right then and there."

"Did you just say—" There's something tantalizing about hearing this atypical vulgarity fall from the other's lips. It's heady—knowing he's managed to thoroughly disarticulate the SSS-rank's trademark composure.

"Fuck. Yes. Now," Akari demands, hands roving underneath his shirt with reckless abandon.

Those hands reach for the captain's belt. As excruciating as it is, Hirato seizes the other man's wrists. "Hey—wait—" His feeble protest is swallowed by yet another kiss. Such underhanded methods have him smirking against his bedmate's mouth. _Using my own tricks against me, hmmm? When did you get so devious?_ At this point, he's considerably incapacitated, but not so far gone as to forget where they are. "We're only fifteen minutes from Research Tower. You can have your way with me then."

Akari's laugh is a deep rumble against his collarbone. "This is me we're talking about. I've worked miracles in fifteen minutes."


	34. Panaceas

Akari's not sure how it came to this. Despite the wealth of properly-trained, _medically-trained_ staff at Research Tower, his attending is none other than Circus' Second Captain.

The events precipitating his broken wrist and femur are a nebulous blur of movement and noise. What he _can_ recall involves boxes of old field reports stacked impossibly high, an unsteady (but convenient) ladder, and a skittish straw-haired lieutenant whose preternatural swiftness managed to topple him but not break his fall. Even so, it's unfair to levy _all_ blame upon the youth. He realizes this somewhere in the nether regions of his cognizance, but he's entirely too frustrated to submit his own thoughts to their customary rigor.

Surprisingly, Akari was a rather complacent patient as Ryoushi-sensei stitched his cuts and casted his fractured limbs. Then again, that was before Hirato arrived to spend the day. If the incapacitated genius harbored any proclivities towards foolishness, he might be moved by the gesture. But Akari is not, nor has he ever been, a fool, or any variant thereof. So when his breathtakingly beautiful paramour saunters through the door, he knows with unerring accuracy that the day's gone to Hell.

This is confirmed immediately. Leveling bedroom eyes at Akari's _assigned_ nurse, Hirato plucks a tiny cup of pills from her fingers. "You must have many matters to attend. Why not leave this to me?"

"I-I-I couldn't do that. Ozaki-sensei said to deliver these to Akari-sensei myself," the poor thing stammers.

The captain inches closer to the besotted girl, settling a gloved hand on her shoulder and leaning in conspiratorially. "Did he now? Could it be that he knows Akari-sensei is a difficult patient?" He laughs softly, tossing a playful wink at the difficult patient in question.

Akari huffs and crosses his arms, making mental note to fire this disrespectful tittering idiot of a nurse and murder that Ozaki in his sleep—to say nothing of the fate that awaits the Second Commander.

"Sensei isn't difficult, Hirato-sama. He just works too hard and needs to rest." She simpers at an impassive strawberry blond. 'Sensei' opens his mouth to spew a few choice insults, but he's circumvented by a black-haired devil who has the uncanny ability to draw attention like a flame draws moths.

"Ah, then isn't it time you took your own advice, my dear?" Hirato says while showing her out. "I assure you, your director is perfectly safe in my care."

Hirato then rounds on his captive, holding the pills before narrowed ruby eyes. "Take these," he _orders_ , all trace of gentlemanly politesse abandoned.

"I'm not taking opiates. I have work to do." The researcher may be immobilized at present, but he is still the head of this facility, and they are squarely in _his_ territory.

"Yes," the brunet says in a tone that brooks no argument, "you are."

"Listen to me you protozoan brute, you can issue all the directives you want on your ow—"

In one fluid motion, Hirato tips the pills into his own mouth and crushes his lips against Akari's, insistent tongue demanding entry. In response, the physician snaps his teeth together, leaving a frustrated commander to lick against them ineffectually. Having been thwarted, Hirato essays another tactic, winding graceful fingers through silken hair and tugging in exactly the manner Akari likes. The blond gasps... and then chides himself for being so easily bested.

Somehow, codeine tastes more bitter than ever.

Afterwards, and clearly by way of apology, the captain is uncommonly careful with his companion. Exceedingly reserved lips slant across the doctor's in a manner nothing like before. Akari accepts the kiss and closes his eyes, forgetting completely his fury.

He wakes to a dull but severe pain thrumming through his limbs. Alert violet irises scan for any indication of discomfort. His pained grimace betrays, and before another word is exchanged, Hirato goes off in search of assistance. When he returns, he's wielding an evil leer and a syringe. _Morphine_ , the blond recognizes, and he knows too what it will mean. His mind drifts to the data monopolizing his desk. Cradle cell experiments are long overdue. Hearty's cage hasn't been cleaned in a week. He raises a stalling hand. "Don't even think about it. I'll get by on codeine."

"Is that why you're holding your breath?"

Akari hadn't noticed. "Irrelevant. I refuse."

"This is getting old," Hirato sighs. It's not often that he's the exasperated one. In fact, the researcher has never seen annoyance manifest on that mask-like visage.

And in that instant, Akari recognizes that it _is_ getting old. Truly. As a result, he can only nod in resignation and hope for a speedy recovery. "Call the nurse. I don't trust you with sharp objects."

Hirato grins; clearly, the amoebic fool believes he's been challenged. "What an awful thing to say. I'll have to prove my trustworthiness then."

 _Air embolism,_ Akari thinks, consigning himself to an ignoble death. _An illustrious life, over because of a series of freak accidents caused by the inepts who crew Airship Two._

While the scientist considers his lingering regrets, said inept takes his arm and uncurls it, exposing the underside. Akari smothers an urge to snatch it back. And if he's never been thoroughly convinced that Hirato can read the tenor of his every heartbeat and discern the hesitation in his every breath, his opinion changes when the irresistible rake leans down to kiss the injection site with unreserved tenderness. "I don't want to hurt you, Akari. Please relax."

"How am I supposed to relax with you trying to stick me?"

"You make it sound as if I've never stuck you before."

Akari sputters. Such coarseness is unlike Circus' Second Commander, but it's certainly distracting enough to disregard how badly he hurts, even momentarily. "Get on with it."

"Characteristically impatient, are we?"

"Hirato—" It's growled in warning and received as intended.

"Later, I promise. You can murder me later." Gentle fingers swab the crook of the physician's elbow before administering the drug with more caution than even _he_ would employ. Hirato's just placed the bandage when a loud, metallic crash startles both of them. Alarmed voices echo down the hallway; hurried footsteps follow.

"What was that?" Akari inquires, bolting upright and preparing to save his research institution from catastrophe.

He's stalled by an outstretched arm. "Probably Yogi," the airship captain explains, mischief dancing across his features.

"What is he doing here?"

"I volunteered him to clean bedpans and laboratory cages." Hirato's smirk lengthens in dark delight. "As punishment."


	35. Sacrifices

"I've failed you so many times," Akari whispers unsteadily. He interlaces their fingers but takes no comfort from the gesture. Hirato is dying.

Blood glitters starkly against preternaturally pale skin. It seeps into the brunet's clothes, taking his warmth with it. Still, Hirato offers an exhausted laugh and a fading, sincere smile—doubtless his last. "You're losing your edge, doctor. Isn't your theory a bit too… _romantic_ for a man of science?"

Plum-hued eyes flutter momentarily and close.

"Don't you dare," Akari chokes out. "Don't you dare leave me."

"If you're right, I'll see you again…" The words are carried on a soft exhale. Bereft of everything that matters, Akari feels neither the storm of the battlefield nor the sorrow that ought to overwhelm.

He merely leans forward and tastes his lover's lips for the final time.

* * *

Morning's harsh light streams through Research Tower's high windows, suffusing the room in a whitish glow that burns Akari's retinas. He groans in protest and burrows deeper into the bedding, only marginally cognizant of the lancing pain in his chest.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Hirato chirps, supreme amusement causing his words to curl. He's immensely pleased with the proper mess he made of the other man last night.

"Go away," the doctor growls. A breath's length passes before his nebulous thoughts coalesce into clarity. And then the implications register: _He's alive._

The captain chuckles softly and saunters off to the kitchen, no doubt intending to brew some coffee for his intemperate bedmate. "So adorable…" he mutters happily, busying himself with the espresso machine.

Rising at last, Akari stares directly into the sunlight in hopes of dispelling any residual stupor. He has to be sure, after all. _This isn't a dream. He's really here._

When the brunet returns, he's greeted with the sort of kiss reserved for soldiers come home from war. Instead of inquiring after the desperation and ravenousness in Akari's touch, he reaches for the blond's clothes, disrobing him and contributing further to the mementos from their latest tryst.

Had Akari known what awaited them, he'd never have permitted the commander to leave. But despite his nonpareil intellect, even he could not foresee the explosion that destroyed Circus' Second Ship and her entire crew.

It's not until Hirato's funeral that he feels it—something fleeting and intangible, tugging at his memory and convincing him that he's been here before.

He's buried Hirato before.

He's lost everything before.

* * *

Raindrops fall against the window in a steady percussion, their dull pattering serving as the ideal ambient backdrop for Akari's research.

His lover will arrive momentarily, and before he does, the doctor must conceal all evidence of his latest project. Seen from an uninitiated perspective, the data he's collected looks very much like he's plotting Hirato's assassination rather than aiming to preserve his life.

If his calculations are correct, the brunet is in mortal danger this evening… unless Akari can arrest the inexorable movement of fate.

 _I won't lose you this time,_ he vows wordlessly. He's a genius, after all. And he's determined that Hirato will be safe so long as he remains out of harm's way until midnight.

Even so, Akari makes love to him like it's their last night together.

When Tsukitachi's tremulous voice comes through the telephone the next afternoon, he realizes that his conclusions were erroneous.

Time is not the variable responsible for Hirato's death.

* * *

"A vacation?" Hirato inquires, brow arched in perplexity. "You?"

Akari's lost count of the number of times he's seen the other man's striking violet irises dull before being rendered lifeless. He wonders idly if he'll grow accustomed to the agony of loss.

He hopes not; sometimes, the pain is all he has to prove that Hirato ever existed.

"I want to see my work with fresh eyes," he evades smoothly, only mildly surprised at how quickly he acquired a facility with equivocation. Indeed, the manipulative bastard at his side would be impressed under other circumstances. "A vacation seemed an optimal solution."

The captain's mouth curves slyly, and instead of being infuriated at the conceit, Akari only smiles sadly, mentally enumerating how few of those trademark smirks he's seen in this iteration of their relationship. "Could it be that you want me to yourself, doctor?"

Amethyst orbs go slightly wide in bewilderment as Akari leans in and places a chaste kiss to the younger man's cheek. "I always want you to myself."

Being confronted with such forthright declarations of sentiment must be unsettling to the inky-haired airship commander, the physician suspects, but he no longer has the wherewithal to posture.

Nevertheless, he should have guessed that Hirato could apprehend the sorrowfulness in his tenor. "Akari?" he queries. "Is something wrong?"

The blond turns his back so his companion cannot see lies lingering in incarnadine eyes. "I'm tired, Hirato. I'd like to get away for a while."

"Your wish is my command." Hirato bows dutifully and commences planning.

The two are returning hand-in-hand from dinner on their third evening in Vantnam when a series of blasts rocks the city. When they regain their footing, the captain's gloved hand squeezes Akari's briefly. "Are you okay?" Hirato asks concernedly.

The doctor nods.

"Stay here," he orders before flying off in the direction of the disturbance. "I'll be back soon."

And Akari knows that no matter where he is, Hirato will never come home.

* * *

 _This time, I'll just tell him,_ the researcher resolves. _Maybe the variable is knowledge._ He omits nothing, not even the myriad tortures he's undergone at having to watch Hirato's life ebb away over and over again. When he finishes, the captain remains still, his dark, inscrutable eyes revealing nothing of his thoughts.

Several moments pass in tense silence before Hirato speaks. "If what you're saying is true, then my dying is inevitable."

Akari pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, _willing_ his interlocutor to understand. "That's why I'm _telling_ you. To stop it. So you'll be mindful of your environment. I never know how it's going to happen, or when, or by what contrivance. Sometimes it happens exactly as a previous death; sometimes everything's different. Warning you is my best chance of preventing it."

"Everyone dies, Akari," the captain says gently. "You, above all, should know that."

What he knows with more certainty than ever before is that he's failed yet again.

Palnedo's attack on Vantnam was unexpected, but thankfully both of Circus' airships were nearby. So too was a Research Tower data-gathering expedition. Akari reaches the warzone precisely as Hirato's injuries began to leach his life.

"You shouldn't be here," the brunet says between increasingly difficult breaths.

"I've failed you so many times," Akari whispers unsteadily. He interlaces their fingers but takes no comfort from the gesture. Hirato is dying.

Blood glitters starkly against preternaturally pale skin. It seeps into the brunet's clothes, taking his warmth with it. Still, Hirato offers an exhausted laugh and a fleeting, sincere smile—doubtless his last. "You're losing your edge, doctor. Isn't your theory a bit too… _romantic_ for a man of science?"

Plum-hued eyes flutter momentarily and close.

"Don't you dare," Akari chokes out. "Don't you dare leave me."

"If you're right, I'll see you again…" The words are carried on a soft exhale. Bereft of everything that matters, Akari feels neither the battle raging around him nor the sorrow that ought to overwhelm.

He merely leans forward and tastes his lover's lips for the final time.

* * *

"What are you doing here, you useless reprobate?" Akari grumbles in feigned displeasure. His performance is worthy of Hirato, if only the conniving imp could perceive that it is in fact a performance, a pantomime, a farce designed to obscure his true feelings.

After all this time, the doctor has finally figured it out.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go to dinner, Akari-san," Hirato asks, not a whit of his characteristic smugness manifest. Remarkably, he appears rather hesitant. The realization causes the doctor's heart to squeeze in a manner not entirely unpleasant.

"Absolutely not," the blond spits, crossing his arms over his chest for good measure. "I can't bear to spend five minutes in your insufferable company, let alone an entire evening."

Hirato's eyes narrow in appraisal. Perhaps he feels the weight of the physician's deceit. Akari almost smiles. Apparently, his protozoan idiot has more perspicacity than he's credited with. Still, without direct confirmation, he can do nothing but concede defeat. "Forgive my presumption then, Akari-san." He bows low before turning on his heel and walking out.

Akari smothers the urge to give chase, to spin that crafty bastard around and kiss him so passionately that they've nowhere to go but bed.

He won't.

He knows he can't.

They were never meant to be.


	36. Damages

_Tap._

Ebony snaps dully against white marble and vermillion irises glitter with rare mischief. Akari's resultant smirk is so inviting that Hirato has to dig his hands into the armrest to restrain them. How they long to touch; how _he_ longs to taste. He can practically feel the other man's skin against his own. It's an intoxicating image—enough to tempt—but the night is young and he is an uncommonly patient man.

"I've just captured your rook," Akari says happily. "Strip." Besides, the doctor is impossibly alluring when issuing directives.

Hirato chuckles softly and dutifully obliges. Given that the evening's dénouement is a foregone conclusion, he has no problem delaying gratification. Circus' Second Commander is a tactical genius, after all. He'll be amply rewarded in due time. He slinks out of his overcoat with fluid grace and places it upon the dining table alongside his discarded hat and gloves.

Akari only leans back in his chair, chin in hand, unwavering stare afire with prurient hunger.

"You seem to be enjoying the show," Hirato teases. "If you want, we can dispense with the game altogether."

The blond smiles contentedly—a trick he adopted from his rakish paramour. "I much prefer to take you by cunning." For a rumored prude, he certainly relishes perverting the pastime of kings with such salacity.

Hirato positions his piece. _Tap._ "Ah, but you know, doctor," he whispers dangerously, "Cunning is _my_ forte."

Akari doesn't wait to be asked (or ordered). He sheds his lab coat without further ado and folds it over the back of his chair. A calculating gaze rakes over the chessboard as the scientist considers his limited options. Without his bishop, the previous fourteen possibilities of victory have been whittled to eight—at least by Hirato's count.

 _Tap._ "Hubris must be won," the researcher quips as he plucks a white knight from its square.

A rush of air, and before Akari even registers the movement, ungloved fingers curl under his chin. Hirato bends low to nip at his earlobe. "I'm not in the habit of losing," he murmurs, taking note of the slight hitch in his lover's breath. He then straightens up and removes his necktie, draping it around the other man for good measure. The blond tuts dismissively and places it amongst the small pile of abandoned clothes.

_Tap._

Akari's smirk lengthens. "That was terribly foolish of you." He removes Hirato's bishop from play. "I think I'll have your jacket."

"As you wish." Unperturbed, the brunet rises again from his chair. His heliotrope-colored eyes level on the seated man in pure, unadulterated carnality. A deliberate, measured finger glides under the crisp edge of a lapel, creeping lower and lower down his torso until it comes to rest against the button. Hirato unfastens his suit jacket. The way he peels the wool off his long, lithe frame is designed to solicit images of the most deliciously depraved sort—of that powerful body, that honed _weapon_ , aimed solely at pleasuring his partner. Having conjured such thoughts, he resumes his seat, crossing one lean leg over another and looking distinctly nonplussed.

He feigns contemplation and slides his queen forward. "Check."

Clothing is only surrendered when a player takes damage; that was the agreement. Nevertheless, Akari loosens his tie and assays the board. In the meantime, amethyst orbs rove over _him_ , missing neither the intermittent twitching of the doctor's leg nor the awkward clearing of his throat.

 _Tap._ Akari removes his king from harm's way.

 _Tap._ Hirato places his knight into harm's way. Deliberately.

"Despite your bravado, you seem destined for defeat," the blond declares while casting aside the sacrificed knight.

 _But we are not playing the same game_ , Hirato thinks. He says nothing, once again standing to disrobe. If seduction is artistry, then the commander is nothing less than a savant. He unbuttons his shirt in an agonizingly languid fashion, fingertips slipping along alabaster flesh as more and more of it is exposed. Sparkling opals follow their dance, Akari's wide pupils anticipating his imminent discomposure.

Seated yet again, he takes his turn. _Tap._

Hirato then waits for Akari to make a move, in more than one sense. The physician scrubs his hands through his hair, allowing it to fall haphazardly into his face. Admittedly, the effect is irresistible, and under different circumstances, he might be enticed to surrender. _Not tonight, doctor._

Sometimes Akari forgets precisely how patient Hirato can be.

Restless fingers drum against glass as the blond lets out a tiny frustrated sigh. He's clearly vacillating between taking Hirato's queen or taking Hirato. In either case, Research Tower's resident genius will lose tonight. What's wonderful about Akari, however, is that he acts boldly once he resolves to act. So, the pilot is unsurprised when his companion shoots to his feet, shoves the pieces off the chessboard, and strides purposefully towards him.

In the next instant, Akari's tongue is trailing down Hirato's chest while deft hands reach for his belt. "You conniving jerk," the researcher mutters before sinking to his knees. "You lost intentionally."

The conniving jerk is far too preoccupied to acknowledge the accusation.

Hours later, a gratified brunet finds himself mesmerized by the pattern of moonlight playing along his bedmate's porcelain skin. Akari is fitted against him, his labored breathing betraying a sated sort of exhaustion. "Your methods are merciless, captain."

Belying the charge is deep, unyielding affection, Hirato knows. Even so, he can't resist gloating. "I warned you, Akari. I'm not in the habit of losing."


	37. Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by an "imagine your OTP" prompt. I really, really wanted to write something for Karnevalesque. This might be kind of crackish.
> 
> Prompt: Imagine your OTP at a carnival.
> 
> Credit to mizamiko here for always, always being the voice in the back of my head that warns me not to write Akari as a helpless distressed damsel.

Hirato has long been inured to his paramour's occasional ability to thwart expectations. For example, no one would guess that Akari avidly watches police procedural dramas (albeit scoffing at their woefully inadequate understanding of human anatomy). And while some acquaintances might intuit that the doctor is responsible for the many, flourishing orchids that adorn Hirato's quarters, they'd never suspect each plant has a name, lovingly bestowed upon it by its meticulous caretaker. Most certainly, not a soul knows about the doctor's rather scandalous fetishes, those involving cold leather and hot wax—the commander would destroy anyone who learned of such things, after all.

So, Hirato's pale-skinned, fae-eyed lover rarely manages to surprise him. There are times, however, when the airship captain wonders if his bedmate is as adept at wearing masks as he is. Like today.

It all started—as do so many things—with Tsukitachi.

"Take Akari-chan on a date," the red-haired captain of Airship One says, "and while you're at it, look for unusual activity amongst the carnival vendors."

Hirato shakes his head. "We don't do dates." A pause. "Furthermore, I'd never take him anywhere violence might erupt."

A thoughtful golden gaze assays the brunet. "You underestimate him."

"I protect him."

"If you say so," Tsukitachi responds in resignation. "Still, I need you to do this for me."

En route to Airship Two, Hirato wonders why he agreed to help his friend. In fact, the other captain is quickly depleting his quota of favors. Then again, it would be terribly advantageous to have the First Commander fall further in his debt. One day, Hirato will collect his due. With interest.

Getting Akari to accompany him to a carnival, though—that would require a more subtle sort of persuasion than Tsukitachi's.

This assessment is ossified as he regards his lover regarding him with not-even-marginally-concealed annoyance, thin brow quivering and hypnotic eyes narrowed to incarnadine slits.

Not good, Hirato immediately thinks, before enumerating everything he's done in the last few days to incite this seismic rage.

"How many times, Hirato?" Akari begins, voice bordering on murderous.

The captain cants his head to demonstrate attentiveness. He does not speak lest he incriminate himself.

"How many times must I tell you not to unplug the alarm clock?" the blond inquires as he stalks towards his companion like a predator, all long limbs and longer strides.

Hirato finds the doctor's threatening affect particularly adorable, but thinks better of divulging that little bit of information at present. He sighs and adopts his most concerned tone—all for effect. "You looked so exhausted last night—"

"—I believe you had something to do with that."

He can't help the smirk forming on his lips. "Well, I figured since I put you to sleep the least I could do is let you sleep."

Akari's patience snaps. "Get out! Get out now, you bastard!" he roars. Years ago the order would have been issued with the perennial 'I hate you' appended. These days it's—"You're not getting any for a month!"

So lovely. Hirato nimbly dodges a flying rack of test tubes. It narrowly misses and glass shatters against the wall in a delicate, chiming percussion. Typically, this sort of...banter? teasing? foreplay? is met with unmitigated glee on his part, but today, there's something weary in Akari's eyes, a slight languor in his shoulders. It's rare for the SSS-ranked genius to be visibly tired. As such, Hirato strides forward and brackets the blond's hips, burying his face in the crook his neck. "I'm sorry for upsetting you, Akari." He means it this time, and thankfully, his lover can read his sincerity with consummate acuity. "You work too hard, you know. Why don't you take the evening off, hmmm?"

"I have lab reports to file," Akari answers softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll see you tonight."

Hirato, on the other hand, grins in victory. It's almost too easy. "You'll have some free time if I help you with the reports, right?"

Hours later, the two are walking through a veritable sea of unsteady-looking booths. Tents pitched with lurid mis-matched fabrics line either side of a narrow, winding path—the faded gold and silver of their threads sparkling dully as the light catches. The night air is cool and undeniably refreshing, and the warm glow of paper lanterns strung high above seems to have allayed much of Akari's earlier irritation. Hirato notices how the back of his companion's hand brushes against his—never obviously, of course. Akari isn't the effusive sort. Nevertheless, the fleeting contact sears his skin as his imagination whirls wildly with thoughts of the evening's dénouement.

Having determined that there are no threats amongst the vendors, he stops in front of a game stall, one wherein the player must shoot three moving targets to win a prize—a plushie Nyanperona, ironically enough.

"Nai might like one of these, don't you think?" Hirato asks. "Or I could win you one, my dear doctor…" He snickers at the mental image of a prickly blond carrying said monstrosity home.

"I have no need of children's toys," Akari huffs, "….or guilt-driven consolations."

"Are you still angry about the alarm clock?"

In lieu of replying, Akari leans forward and picks up the dart gun. He squares himself up in a textbook isosceles stance, one ruby orb gazing unflinchingly through the sight. Without so much as a blink's hesitation, the researcher fires off five rounds in rapid succession. When he's finished, all of the targets have toppled over.

Hirato doesn't sputter exactly, but he does take several moments to gather his scattered wits. "How did you—"

"What I'm angry about is your incomprehensible need to infantilize me," Akari interrupts, taking the proffered prize from the vendor and stuffing it into a nondescript paper bag.

The captain clears his throat and resumes his trademark nonchalance (although he remains a trace disquieted... not fearful, of course, just uneasy). He also makes note to rid his home of any sharp objects easily converted into projectile weapons. "I see."

"Never unplug the alarm clock again," the doctor commands with finality.

And Hirato knows then that despite his best efforts, he'll never discover all of Akari's secrets. Even so, he's prepared to spend a lifetime trying.


	38. Negotiations

"What about this one? Why didn't I score full points for this one?" the uniform-clad youth queries, rhinestone eyes wide and pleading behind his spectacles.

Akari sighs the sigh of the quintessentially long-suffering professor. "I do not reward mediocrity, Hirato. You'd have earned the full twenty points had you gone into finer detail regarding the chemosynthetic reactions that take place in Varuga mitochondria."

"No one could have done that, sensei. You didn't give us enough time." If the older man didn't know his pupil's pout was more a function of chicanery rather than genuine disappointment, he might be enticed to generosity. Fortunate, then, that he's acutely aware the duplicitous imp before him is incapable of proper human sentiment.

There's a moment, a fleeting one, where the young lecturer entertains the idea of reaching across his desk and throttling the frustrating lout with his own necktie. Needless to say, he does not indulge in said fantasy. Instead, he stiffly crosses one leg over the other, interlacing his fingers in his lap (so they do not surrender to violent temptation). Akari's subsequent words are offered with remarkable acerbity and a malevolent glare: "Impossible as it may seem to your amoebic intellect, there are students in this course more talented than you."

"Who?" asks Hirato, the cant of his head intimating challenge.

"I am not at liberty to discuss another student's performance."

"You can't mean Tsukitachi."

"Hirato," Akari says resignedly, "I'm not going to change your grade. You'll need much more than protests or negotiation to effect that."

Glossy black hair falls into Hirato's face as he bows his head in pretend dejection. This deflated affect is a calculated artiface, sensei knows, but even so, his elegant fingers unfurl and instinctively reach forward to comfort. And then he stops himself, abruptly settling them atop the desk before Hirato can intuit his designs. What am I thinking? Not only is mollifying petulant children outside his professional obligations, it's absurd that he feels any impetus to make efforts toward this particular youth. Hirato is, to put it mildly, a classroom menace—brilliant enough to defy authority figures, infectiously charismatic, forever inciting mischief amongst his compatriots, and perhaps most dangerously, quite obviously enamored of his instructor.

Still, something about seeing those vibrant amethyst orbs dull in discontent burrows under Akari's skin. I'll regret this. Regardless, he relents. "Ninety-five is a perfectly acceptable score. I have no doubt your overall score will be above a ninety-eight."

"You're just saying that because you want me to leave," the brunet responds sullenly.

Damn right. "Well, I have some research to conduct this afternoon, so if you've exhausted all your concerns, I really must be going."

"I haven't."

Akari mentally counts to ten and takes several deep breaths. I'm going to crucify Tokitatsu for convincing me to teach this course. "What else can I do for you?" he asks, the words ground out against gritted teeth.

Hirato stands and leans over the desk, flattening his exam paper against it, long, gloved fingers pointing to a hastily scribbled answer in miniscule writing. "Look, sensei. I do give details about Varuga mitochondria."

Akari sighs. Again. Nevertheless, he indulges the whelp in hopes of making satisfaction. The sooner he can rid himself of this nuisance, the sooner he can attend to his cradle cell experiments. Unfortunately, the lecturer cannot make out Hirato's usually-immaculate handwriting. Cramped into a corner of the test paper is a string of tiny, copperplate lettering in nonsensical sequence: "ABTEFICKAH GNIRE OENIKFS YFUR." The blond shakes his head as though doing so might render the incoherent babble into one of the many languages with which he has facility, but the words remain unintelligible. Realizing then that Hirato is wasting his precious time with puerility, Akari looks up, ruby gaze hardened in fury.

He's prepared a litany of curses that dissolve on his tongue when he feels the brunet's lips brush against his. It's a brief kiss, almost innocent in its lack of passion and lasting less than a second, but it's enough for him to push away with such alacrity that his chair nearly topples backwards.

"What the hell?" Akari growls in shock, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That was exceedingly inappropriate! Do you want to be expelled? Shall I inform your brother?"

Inscrutable as his facial expression is, there's a sparkle of deviltry in Hirato's eyes. "You said changing my grade would require more than protests or negotiation. I was taking your suggestion."

Whatever modicum of patience Akari manages to feign is obliterated by the insolent remark. He snaps. "Get out! Now!" he yells, throwing a book at the retreating student for good measure.

The future captain evades, ducking smoothly and seeing himself to the door with a mocking bow. "As you wish, Akari-sensei."

"Don't you dare come to office hours again!"

It's unsurprising that Akari is later reprimanded for making himself too inaccessible to his students. Such behavior is not congenial to a productive learning environment, he's told. Less surprising, however, is that Hirato shows up for office hours next week, this time with innumerable inquiries on lecture material.

Sensei keeps a large reference volume of Varuga physiology at the ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was prompted by an idle musing precipitated by the previous chapter: When was the first time Akari threw something at Hirato?
> 
> I've really missed writing 'Karnevalesque'. Thanks for reading my ill-conceived head!canons.


	39. Weaknesses

"Don't come any closer," Yogi demands, silvery hair falling into his face. Lavender eyes narrow in malice. "Or I'll kill him. I mean it."

Even from a distance, Hirato can see that he does. A sword to Akari's throat, the doctor's arm twisted against his back, this menacing version of his second-in-command has effortlessly claimed the upper hand. He uses the physician as a shield, and while the commander would most certainly attack under other circumstances, even the slightest probability of injuring his lover is dismissed outright.

Akari, on the other hand, is frustratingly reckless with respect to his own well-being. "What are you waiting for, Hirato? We can't leave him like this."

Yogi cackles, high and shrill, his voice echoing along the ship's corridor. "What are you waiting for, Hirato-san?"

In his jittery excitement, the young blond inadvertently nicks his prey. A thin, scarlet streak appears along Akari neck, dripping blood onto his shirt collar, claret droplets landing against pale blue cotton in a soft percussion. Anger—white hot and hellishly intense—courses through Hirato's veins, making him see red. He's become expert at handling this travesty of his typically-affable subordinate, at neutralizing him without causing any lingering damage, but right now, his fingers curl around his cane in murderous intent. Rage overwhelms, its only signifier the severity of a dark, indigo stare.

"Let him go," Hirato orders, tone clipped and precise.

Yogi cants his head, pantomiming thoughtfulness. When his lips curl in a demonic leer, the brunet knows that his command will go unheeded. "No. I want to play."

"Yogi," Akari says calmly. "You can't keep this up forever. If your host dies, you'll die as well."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you, Akari?" Yogi spits. "No more having to put me back in line when I get out of hand. You always did like him better, didn't you? All of you do!"

"Who I like better is irrelevant. I still don't want you dead." The doctor's sigh is exhausted.

But I might, Hirato thinks viciously. It's a strange sensation, feeling such rage against the child he once rescued. But Yogi has crossed an unnamed line, and for that transgression, he will pay dearly.

The brunet's cognition stalls completely when he hears a series of snaps as his lieutenant breaks his paramour's arm like so many dry branches. Akari yells in pain, his mouth hanging slightly open and drawing ragged breaths. Perspiration beads on his forehead. He closes his eyes and bows his head.

"How about now, hmmm?" inquires the aggressor. "Are you sure you don't want me dead?"

Hirato doesn't give Akari time to answer. He doesn't speak, even. He merely raises his cane, hesitating once more although every reflex in his arm is screaming at him to send his subordinate into oblivion without delay. His mind processes myriad offensive strategies, each as unfeasible as the last. He can't risk his beloved.

The doctor intuits his reticence; suddenly, cerise orbs level at him with unflinching resolve. "I trust you," Akari says breathlessly. "Do it."

The captain nods and makes a slashing motion in the air, knocking Yogi off his feet and sending him flying down the hallway and slamming into the far wall. The youth collapses to the floor in a tangled mess of long limbs. Sheep come to collect his unconscious form, binding him and taking him away. Perhaps they too sensed Hirato's lethal designs and sought to remove Yogi from his sight.

Akari also topples backwards as a result of the inertia. The commander flies forward and catches him in time to arrest his fall. He kneels, cradling the blond in one arm while the fingers of his free hand trace the laceration along the researcher's throat, assessing its extent. Akari hisses. Hirato draws back, and for once, he's unsettled by the scarlet staining his pristine gloves.

"Don't be too hard on him," the physician says, voice labored. He's bearing up admirably, but it's clear he's in agony.

The commander shakes his head. "I will discipline him as I see fit." It retains none of his trademark joviality. "He's lucky to be alive."

Akari does not doubt the seriousness of that assertion. But all his protests cease when he feels himself being lifted off the ground, Hirato's strong arms securing him tightly to a broad chest. The usually-metronymic beating of the captain's heart is mildly erratic, and he knows it's not on account of physical exertion. The doctor would be moved were he not so frightened for Yogi. "He broke my arm, Hirato. My feet are fine," he huffs anemically.

"This is faster," the brunet whispers, his exhale a puff of warm air against Akari's forehead. "I need to get you to the infirmary."

Later, when the researcher wakes in his lover's bed, he's met with a reserved kiss and a look of such sincerity that it nearly steals his breath. It's too much—Hirato's unabashed concern, his affection, his vulnerability. 

"I've been thinking," Akari says. "Maybe it's not a good idea for us to be involved."

Careful lips graze the wrist of his uncasted arm, their gentle heat thoroughly at odds with the burning ire Hirato displayed earlier. "Akari," he begins.

"Let me finish."

The commander stills immediately, attention rapt.

"Yogi only attacked me to get at you. You're practically invincible when I'm not around. I don't want to be your weak—"

"You're not my weakness," Hirato states simply. "Without your intervention, I might have truly harmed him."

"I fail to see your point."

The captain laughs softly, prompting Akari to relax in spite of himself. "No, I don't suppose you would take my meaning. You save lives, after all. It's so ingrained in your nature that you don't perceive its extraordinariness. For a man like me, sparing Yogi was no mean feat." A contemplative pause. "So you see, Akari, you're not my weakness at all; you're my only strength."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, like, for all my whining about Akari always being portrayed as some demurring weakling, I too wanted to see a scenario wherein Hirato saves Akari. Like, really saves him. And because I'm a fangirl, I wanted Hirato to carry him too.


End file.
